


Roseph Prompt Fills

by captaincharming



Category: Dream Daddy: A Dad Dating Simulator
Genre: Boat Sex, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Originally Posted on Tumblr, Prompt Fill, Tumblr Prompt, an abundance of softness, continuing series, each prompt is complete but i'll keep adding more to this, send me prompts and you might see them here!
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2017-10-06
Updated: 2017-11-12
Packaged: 2019-01-09 15:39:33
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 10
Words: 19,644
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12279465
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/captaincharming/pseuds/captaincharming
Summary: a series of prompt fills from tumblr





	1. Knots and Knives

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for anonymous who asked for “some smutty roseph involving knots and knives”

“This is not what I was picturing when you said you ‘needed a hand with some rope’.“

Joseph glances up from the heap of sailing rig he’s tangled in, smiling at the disgruntled look on Robert’s face. “We don’t all spend our time in the mental gutter,” he admonishes.

Robert snorts, uncrossing his arms to keep his balance as he steps on board Joseph’s yacht. He glances around the mess on deck, turning back to Joseph with both eyebrows raised. Joseph shrugs, ropes dangling from his arms.

“Spring cleaning!” he enthuses, grinning up at Robert as he comes nearer, standing over Joseph where he’s seated among what seems like every rope available to him in shades of pink. “It’s finally warm enough to get back out on the water, so I gotta make sure she’s seaworthy.”

“Uh huh,” Robert says, bracing a hand on Joseph’s shoulder to lean in for a kiss. Joseph tips his head back to accommodate him, the taste of mint not quite enough to mask the menthol on his breath.

Joseph pulls away, eyes narrowed teasingly. “Did you brush your teeth before you came?” Robert blushes just a little, high on his cheeks. Joseph is delighted. “Aw, did you clean up for me, sweetheart?”

Robert flattens a palm against his face, pushing Joseph’s head away as he laughs up at him. “I thought you wanted to screw!” he huffs, letting Joseph catch his hand and pull him down to the deck. “I didn’t know I was being manipulated into physical labor.” He grumbles a bit more, indecipherable against Joseph’s mouth, before hooking one arm around Joseph’s neck and settling into a soft, unhurried kiss. Joseph’s own efforts to hold him are hindered by the pile of ropes clinging to his every extremity. Robert notices, taking advantage of Joseph’s helplessness, pulling away to brush his nose against Joseph’s, thwarting Joseph’s every attempt at reconnecting their mouths.

“Got yourself in a mess, don’tcha?” Robert breathes against his cheek, kissing Joseph’s closed eyelids when he pinches them shut with a sigh.

“Are you going to help me or just keep making fun?” Joseph asks, with less sting than he intended because Robert has taken one of his earlobes between his teeth, and it’s really hard to sound upset with him when he does that.

Robert hums thoughtfully, nosing in behind his ear and biting down, just shy of painful. Joseph gasps, tilting his head to give him more room. “Depends,” Robert says, following the arch of Joseph’s neck with his mouth. “You gonna make it worth my while?”

“We are – shit, Robert – out in broad daylight,” Joseph whispers, protesting even as he presses into Robert’s touch. “Get me loose so we can at least go inside.”

“How did you do this, anyway?” Robert leans back to get a better look at him, amusement curling the edges of his mouth. He plucks at the thick lengths of rope Joseph is piled under as Joseph shifts, embarrassed. 

“I was checking the rigging,” Joseph mumbles, flinching as Robert’s fingers catch one of the knots caught around his wrist. “I pulled everything down and was running it, you know, checking for weak points. So I was untying and tying knots, and throwing it around, and it was all over the place, and I just kept tying without realizing that they were getting tangled and wrapped around me an- stop  _laughing_ , Rob!”

“You’re ridiculous,” Robert tells him, kissing him quickly. “Maybe if these weren’t all nauseatingly pink, you could stand to look at them long enough to make sure you weren’t tying yourself up.” He sits back on his heels, digging into his front pockets for a moment before coming up with small, dark-wooden handle pocket knife.

Joseph jerks involuntarily when Robert flicks it open with a thumb, drawing a strange look from the older man. “You can’t cut these!” he insists, eyeing the sharp glint of the spear point knife warily. “This much rope costs a lot of money.”

“I’ll buy it back,” Robert says shortly, making an irritated noise when Joseph shifts away again. “Joe, come on, you don’t seriously expect me to untangle this mess by hand.”

Joseph almost tells him that yes, he does expect that, just to see if he’s right in thinking Robert would do it. Robert is watching him, a little agitated. Joseph pretends to consider it for just a moment, gazing mournfully down at his custom pink rigging. It had been a lot of work to track down all these shades! He’d had to color-code the different lines, and pink just wasn’t a readily-available color, let alone in all different hues. 

“I’ll buy it back  _in pink_ ,” Robert says, gently. 

Joseph meets his eye, biting his lip on a smile. “Promise?” he checks, just this side of breathy, and Robert’s eyes go dark.  _All too easy._

“You’re a spoiled brat, you know that?”

Joseph grins, satisfied, as Robert settles in a crouch in front of him, getting a better look at what he’s up against. None of the ropes are particularly tight, but they’re heavy and uncomfortable. Joseph can feel them irritating his skin when he moves. 

Robert’s expertise with a knife exceeds Joseph’s with his knots (obviously), so he makes quick work of the bulk of the mess twisted around Joseph’s limbs. He shoves most of the length to the side, focusing on the last of the smaller, tighter knots caught around Joseph’s elbows and wrists. “How?” he asks, gesturing vaguely. Joseph feels his cheeks getting hot, but whether it’s from Robert’s incredulity or being out in the sun for such an extended period, he isn’t sure.

“I was just kinda,” Joseph makes a demonstrative motion with his one liberated arm, “winding it up, you know?”

“Uh huh,” Robert says again, like he can’t believe the caliber of idiot he’s saddled himself with. His fingers slip under the tightest knot, cinched around Joseph’s left wrist.

“Hang on, I think I can loosen it -” Joseph starts to say, twisting his arm beneath Robert’s grasp.

“Goddamn it, Joe!” Robert hisses, yanking the knife away, too late. Joseph doesn’t even feel the pain until he sees blood, seeping from the wound at the tip of his thumb.

Then the world swims, a little, as he sways on the spot. “Oh, shit,” he manages, eyes fixed on the crimson smears trickling toward his wrist.

Robert curses again, cutting the last of the rope away before tossing the knife to the side, grabbing Joseph’s wrist to inspect the cut. Joseph feels sweaty and faint, his heart pounding in his ears, stomach turning over unpleasantly as Robert turns his hand toward the light.

“It ain’t so bad,” Robert tells him, sounding relieved until he catches sight of Joseph’s pale face. “Joe? Baby, you all right?”

Joseph swallows, trying to find the words to reassure him, but all he can focus on is the steady flow of blood from his injured finger. Robert looks between his face and the wound, brow furrowed worriedly, before seemingly coming to a decision. He raises Joseph’s hand to his lips, sucking his still-bleeding thumb into his mouth. Joseph watches with something other than horror as Robert licks the blood from his hand, quick and efficient, chasing the path from cut to wrist. He slides his mouth back up to catch the newest drops at the tip of Joseph’s thumb before they can fall. His tongue traces the length of the cut, and Joseph jolts, more pain than pleasure, but there are aspects of both when Robert does it again, flicking his eyes up to Joseph’s face.

“Rob,” Joseph says, weakly. Robert hollows his cheeks in response, sucking gently at Joseph’s thumb, careful to avoid scraping his teeth over the wound. Joseph is transfixed, heart still thumping painfully, blood still rushing away from his head, but now for an entirely different reason.

“You got a first aid kit around here?” Robert asks around the digit in his mouth, tonguing at the split flesh again. This time, the jolt is all pleasure.

“Below deck,” Joseph whispers, reluctantly. He never thought he’d see the day he’d wantto  _keep_  bleeding, but Robert has taught him a lot of things about himself he never knew.

“Hold your hand up,” Robert instructs him, catching Joseph behind the elbows and hauling both of them to their feet. He kicks the ropes away, lest they trip over them, and forces Joseph’s arm higher with the hand he still has around his elbow, leading him across deck and down the stairs.

Joseph blinks dazedly once they’re out of the bright sun, eyes struggling to adjust to the dark cabin. He’d installed curtains over the wall of windows, at Robert’s insistence, and they’re closed now, casting the room in a pallor. Robert lets go and moves away, leaving Joseph to stagger his way to the bed. He sinks down on the edge of it, hand raised at shoulder height, carefully avoiding looking over in case he catches sight of the wound again.

Robert rummages around in the cabinet across the room, making little frustrated noises every time another drawer turns up devoid of what he’s looking for. Joseph watches his back, focusing on the concerned tightness in his shoulders rather than the trickle of  _something_  down his own arm. 

“Robbie?” It comes out more pitiful than Joseph intends. He’s such a wuss about blood.

“I’m looking, babe,” Robert snaps back, slamming yet another gainless drawer. “You got so much goddamn junk in these it’s a wonder you can ever -” He cuts himself off, digging to the bottom of the current drawer, coming up with a thin piece of paper.

A photograph, Joseph realizes, craning his neck to get a look at it. Robert runs a finger over the surface, head bowed so Joseph can’t see his face. He opens the last drawer in the cabinet, sighing in relief when it yields the elusive first aid kit. He comes over to where Joseph sits, kneeling in front of him with kit and photograph in hand. He sets the latter aside, opening the kit and pulling out an alcohol wipe.

“Gimme,” he demands, reaching for Joseph’s hand. There’s blood pooled in the hollow of his wrist, streaking slowly toward his elbow. Joseph makes a choked noise, turning his face away as Robert swipes at it, working his way up to the actual cut. “I never knew you were a hemophobe,” Robert says, conversationally, like he doesn’t hold Joseph’s maimed hand in his own. Joseph hisses another breath when Robert trades out for a fresh wipe, dabbing at the wound gingerly.

“I don’t know anyone who actually likes blood, sicko,” Joseph retorts, eyes squeezed shut as Robert probes the cut, checking the depth. “Who just sticks someone’s bleeding finger in their mouth? That’s disgusting, Robert.”

“Why, you got cooties I’m gonna catch?” He flicks his tongue against Joseph’s thumb once more, prompting a sharp gasp. “Seems like you like it more’n you’re lettin’ on,” he teases, voice low and amused.

“You’re going to have to clean it again,” Joseph warns, helpless but to watch as Robert takes the whole finger in his mouth again, biting at the last knuckle. His eyes are guileless as he stares up at Joseph, swirling his tongue around the digit as he sucks his way back up. Joseph can’t hold back a moan.

“Worth it,” Robert says, shuffling forward on his knees, pushing Joseph’s apart. He lets go of Joseph’s wrist to get both hands on his belt, forcing Joseph to hold his own hand against his lips as he continues the ministrations of his tongue. Robert’s eyes beg silent permission, fingers plucking at the buckle meaningfully, and Joseph gives a jerky nod. Like he’d ever seriously say no.

Robert’s hands are cool from the wipes as he eases Joseph out of his slacks, a contrast to the heat of his mouth around Joseph’s thumb. He pulls off just long enough to lick a stripe across one of his palms, crimson-streaked saliva thick and wet when he gets the hand back around Joseph’s cock.

“Gross, Rob, come on,” Joseph complains, almost snatching his hand out of reach when Robert leans in for it, tongue first.

“It’s your blood, baby,” Robert reminds him, undeterred.

“Please don’t say the ‘B’ word,” Joseph whines, curling the fingers of his injured hand around Robert’s jaw as he licks at his thumb again. He doesn’t even feel bad if he’s getting… _stuff_  in his beard.

Robert just chuckles, the vibrations not entirely pleasant against the slit skin of his thumb, but Robert’s hands on his cock more than make up for it. Robert invents a rhythm, twisting his wrist at the head of Joseph’s dick as he sucks his way down his finger, following with a quick stroke down to the base as he licks at the cut. Joseph’s head falls back, groans and curses and encouragements falling from his lips as his fingers flex against Robert’s face. He has to hold himself up with the other hand, otherwise it’d be in Robert’s tousled but fresh-smelling hair. He really had cleaned himself up before coming over. Joseph feels a rush of affection that has nothing do with Robert’s current preoccupation. He lifts his hips to follow the motion of Robert’s hand, earning himself a grunt of acknowledgement. 

Robert lets go of Joseph’s dick with one hand, tracing down over his balls in a practiced movement that leaves Joseph gasping, bearing down against the pressure. Just a couple more strokes like that and he -

Joseph shouts as Robert sets his teeth against the edges of the wound, palming the head of Joseph’s cock as he squeezes with his other hand. His release spills through Robert’s fingers, mimicking the flow of blood and saliva over Joseph’s own hand as Robert pulls away to kiss him on the mouth, tongue pressing deep to cut off Joseph’s airway, leaving his head swimming through the remnants of his orgasm. 

Joseph holds him close with both knees and one arm, letting his body speak the gratitude his mouth is too preoccupied to say. Robert is hard against his stomach, moving against him in aborted little half thrusts. Joseph wriggles a hand between them, the uninjured one, frustrated with his temporary handicap when he can’t quite work Robert’s pants open one-handed. 

Robert is no help, both hands framing Joseph’s face as he continues to kiss him breathless. He makes a contented noise when Joseph runs his fingers along the length of his clothed cock, biting his lower lip.

“Help me get your pants open,” Joseph whispers, deep into the kiss. “Rob, come on, I need two hands.”

“All you need,” Robert replies, stroking his tongue along the roof of Joseph’s mouth, “is to keep touching me, just like that.”

Joseph scoffs but tightens his fingers, opening his eyes in surprise when Robert groans in that tell-tale way of his. “Just like this?” he asks, incredulous. “In your…?”

Robert nods stiffly against him, letting out a harsh gust of breath when Joseph strokes up. “Really got me goin’, baby.”

“Well, well, well, if I’m a…what did you call me?” He presses, just that much harder, when Robert takes too long to answer.

“A hemophobe,” Robert moans, burying his face in Joseph’s neck. “Afraid of blood.”

“Well, if I’m a hemophobe, that makes you a…” Joseph pauses. “A…whatever you call it when people who get off on blood. One of those,” he finishes, lamely.

“Hematolagniac,” Robert provides, through gritted teeth. He shifts, desperately, trying to encourage the motion of Joseph’s hand. “Joe, come on.”

“I don’t even,” Joseph starts, pressing the heel of his palm at the base of Robert’s dick and dragging up, prompting an open-mouth shudder, “want to know how you know that.”

“Hey, now, I let you have your rope kink. You’re not even gonna give me the same courte- ah!” Robert’s head falls forward on Joseph’s shoulder as he comes, warmth seeping through the front of his pants. Joseph frees his hand from between them to wrap an arm around his shoulders, holding him close.

They breathe together for a minute, Joseph’s fingers trailing idly through Robert’s soft hair, Robert’s clenching and unclenching against Joseph’s thighs. Robert lifts his head, finally, smiling at Joseph from behind tired eyes.

“Good,” he says, simply. Joseph laughs, leaning in to kiss him. His thumb throbs when he reaches to stroke Robert’s face, temporarily forgetting the injury. His sucks a breath through his teeth, pulling back to cast a glare at the offending appendage. Robert frowns, sitting up straighter to lean around Joseph for the medkit. “Let me see that again.”

Joseph holds his hand out, back to avoiding looking directly at it. He casts his gaze around the room as Robert patches him up, eyes landing on the picture Robert had carried over before. He picks it up, eyebrows jumping in surprise when he gets a look at it.

It’s a picture of them, with the other cul-de-sac dads, on Joseph’s yacht. Robert is wearing his sweater, smiling like he hasn’t a care in the world. Joseph’s arm is around him, and though the photo doesn’t show it, Joseph can vividly remember the fingers he’d trailed along the back of his neck, sending gooseflesh down Robert’s arms. He stares at the picture, lost in the way the smile crinkles Robert’s eyes, until real life Robert is finished. He tweaks Joseph’s freshly bandaged finger, making him jump.

“How long have you had that?” Robert asks, quietly. Joseph looks at him, eyes clouded with memory.

“Since it was taken.” He shrugs at Robert’s questioning look. “I like when you smile.” He turns the picture around so Robert can see. “I like this Robert best.”

Robert finishes repacking the first aid kit, setting it on the floor at Joseph’s feet before joining him on the bed. He takes the picture from Joseph’s unresisting hand, holding it at length. 

 _He needs bifocals_ , Joseph thinks, not for the first time. It inexplicably makes him want to kiss him.

Robert looks at the picture for a long time. He doesn’t say anything, just looks, until Joseph drops a hand on his leg. He glances over, smiling self-consciously. “You like him, huh?”

Joseph nods, leaning over to rest his head on Robert’s shoulder, letting Robert intertwine their fingers. “He’s pretty cute, don’t you think?”

Robert lets out a long sigh, dropping the photo on the nightstand and reaching over to drag Joseph closer. “I think if you like him so much, you should get him to come rescue you next time.”

He kisses Joseph as he laughs, tumbling him back into the clean-smelling sheets.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i've been trying to write for these guys as much as possible, but i'm not always capable of those super long angsty fics, so here's a compromise! send me more prompts here [x](https://knotsandknives.tumblr.com/) if you'd like, and i'll do my best to get to all of them!


	2. I've Got You Under My Skin

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for anonymous who said: “i can’t stop thinking about joseph singing frank sinatra’s ‘i got you under my skin’ to robert”.

_“In spite of a warnin’ voice that comes in the night, and repeats, repeats in my ear.”_

Robert catches the whispered phrase as Joseph passes by on his way back to the grill, a tuneless little melody before he goes back to humming. Joseph hums when he’s distracted, usually because he doesn’t actually know the words well enough to sing. He occasionally sprinkles in what words he does know, the same phrase over and over until Robert has to tell him to shut it.

That was a new one, so Robert isn’t sick of it yet. He just shakes his head fondly when Joseph is out of earshot once again, turning back to his conversation with Hugo about the cheese plate he’d brought. Robert would honestly rather listen to Joseph sing Margaritaville at him for the millionth time.

______

 

_“Don’t you know, little fool, you never can win?”_

This is the line that sticks. Joseph’s repeated it at least seventy million times since Robert arrived at the church. Joseph had asked him for his professional opinion on some remodeling ideas for the sanctuary. Robert hadn’t realized that meant Joseph would be following him around as he gets an idea for the space. He wouldn’t even mind the following, if it weren’t accompanied by the singing.

Robert snags a hymnal from one of the pews as he passes, handing it to a bewildered Joseph. “Learn a new song, sweetheart.”

Joseph flushes, giving an embarrassed laugh. “Sorry, I heard it on the radio earlier. On the 50’s on 5 channel?” He waits for a reaction. Robert has no idea what he’s talking about. Don’t radios have stations? “Do you have Sirius? In your truck?” Joseph tries again.

“Honey, my truck doesn’t even have a CD player.”

Joseph shakes his head, amused. “Maybe I should talk the church into paying you for your time here. Maybe then you could afford a vehicle built after the 21st century.”

“Hey!” Robert laughs, letting Joseph lead the way back to his office. “That truck has landed me more than a handful of hot dates. People appreciate antiques.”

Joseph fixes Robert with a look over his shoulder, one that makes Robert feel inexplicably flustered. “I don’t think it’s the truck they appreciate, Rob.”

Rob swallows, leaning up against the doorframe of Joseph’s office as he settles in behind his desk. The mood has shifted into the oddly charged state he sometimes senses from Joseph. Joseph, who’s watching him closely, eyes unreadable. He offers nothing to alleviate the tension. As usual, it falls to Robert to lighten the mood. “You calling me an antique, Joe?”

Joseph smiles, enigmatic. He doesn’t answer.

______

 

_“I’d tried so hard not to give in…”_

Robert pauses, t-shirt halfway over his head. “You say somethin’?”

Joseph turns over in bed, pulling the sheet up as he goes, like there’s any modesty left to preserve. He smiles at Robert, a little uncertain, watching Robert getting dressed across the room. “Just singing.”

Robert snorts, shrugging into his jacket. “It was good enough to get you singing?” He considers his options for a moment, but Joseph all shy and insecure is too good to resist. He moves to the edge of the bed, bracing a hand on the headboard to lean in for one last kiss.

“Something like that,” Joseph says against his mouth, wrapping his fingers around Robert’s wrist. He hangs on even as Robert steps away, letting himself be pulled upright. The sheet gathers at his waist, exposing his chest and stomach, where his blush spreads under Robert’s hungry gaze. “You’re leaving?” The vulnerability in his voice is almost enough to make Robert stay.

Almost.

______

 

_“I’d sacrifice anything, come what might, for the sake of having you near.”_

“That’s your answer?” Robert asks, incredulous. He glances down at their clasped hands, then around the moderately busy park. “You’re gonna sing at me when I ask you if you’re sure you want people talking about this?” He squeezes Joseph’s hand for emphasis.

Joseph smiles, a little trembly but determined. “Two guys can’t hang out on a bench and hold hands while the kids play?”

“They  _can_ ,” Robert huffs, settling back against the uncomfortable wood, letting Joseph wriggle in close to his side. “But that ain’t how people are gonna describe it.”

“Are you worried about it? What they might say?” Joseph clarifies, sounding genuinely concerned. Robert bumps his knuckles against his thigh, twice, jostling them both by their joined hands.

“I don’t give a fuck what anyone thinks. I’m just worried about you.”

Joseph smiles again, absently, eyes fixed across the grassy expanse of the park, watching his kids horsing around on the playground equipment. Content with his own view of Joseph’s sharp profile, Robert waits.

 

_______

 

_“I’ve got you under my skin, I’ve got you deep in this heart of mine.”_

“You can have me deep in something else, if you’d rather.”

Joseph laughs, a contented sound in the early morning quiet, stepping back where he’d pinned Robert to the counter, letting him turn around to squint up at the taller man. Robert sets his coffee mug aside, hands settling at Joseph’s hips, head dropping to his shoulder. Joseph’s hands come up to comb through Robert’s tangled hair, brushing it away from his ear as he leans in.

 _“So deep in my heart that you’re really a part of me,”_  he croons lowly, wrapping his arms around Robert’s shoulders and swaying on the spot. Robert locks his knees, trying to resist, but Joseph is determined. He pulls Robert away from the counter, drifting in slow circles around the kitchen.  _“I said to myself: this affair never will go so well. But why should I try to resist when, baby, I know so well, I’ve got you under my skin.”_

“That’s not even how it goes,” Robert complains, turning his face into Joseph’s neck, tightening his hold on his hips. “You’re jumbling all the lines around.”

“It’s the thought that counts,” Joseph tells him, silencing any further complaints with a soft kiss.

This may be the one song Robert never gets tired of. It’s a helluva lot better than Margaritaville, anyway.


	3. Too Sick to Pray

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for anonymous who said: I would literally kill for a fanfic with a sick Joseph begging Robert for sex and getting refused because Robert wants him to stay in bed and get better. (Bonus if theres lots of Joseph teasing to try and get what he wants)

It couldn’t have come at a worse time. Mary has the kids for the weekend, taking them on a road trip to Maine for the Pumpkinfest and Regatta event in Damariscotta (which, honestly, Joseph wouldn’t have minded going to that himself, but this was finally a chance at a whole weekend alone with Rob), and Joseph had stocked the house with enough food and booze to ensure they wouldn’t need to go outside for at least two days. He’d washed the sheets, vacuumed the couch, cleaned the kitchen counters (Robert’s a pretty firm believer in the ‘whenever the mood strikes’ approach to sex). He has been waiting for this, and he is  _ready_.

Which is why, Joseph is sure, he’d woken up with a sore throat and a splitting headache, which had progressed into full-blown, nose-dripping, incessant-coughing sickness in a matter of hours. It’s the universe playing the cruelest of tricks on him, and he doesn’t even believe in that sort of thing.

He’s tried everything from alka seltzer to steam showers to fervent prayer, but he’s only getting worse as the clock ticks nearer to Robert’s promised arrival time of 4 p.m. He’d caught the earliest flight out. He was looking forward to this as much as Joseph. Joseph feels horrible.

Literally. But he’s determined to fake his way through this if it kills him. Who knows when the next time they’ll get a weekend alone will be.  _It’s now or never_ , Joseph thinks, grimly.

He allows himself two more hours to wallow in bed before dragging himself to the bathroom to shower, shave, and moisturize. He wishes Mary had left some kind of foundation or concealer behind when she’d moved out. The bags under his eyes combined with the sickly pallor of his skin are dead giveaways. Maybe he’ll just keep the lights off when Robert arrives and claim a desire for a little mood lighting.

Joseph gets situated on the couch, barefoot in silk pajamas, really playing up the cliche here, with 30 minutes to spare. And promptly falls asleep, mouth open to combat the stuffiness in his nose, chest rattling with every shallow breath.

He wakes to the slam of the front door, throat screaming for a lozenge, eyes crusted with sleep. God, he’s a mess. Joseph struggles into an upright position, scrubbing at his eyes, slapping his cheeks to infuse them with a little bit of color.

“Honey, I’m home!” Robert calls out from the entryway.

“In here!” Joseph calls back, wincing at the strain on his throat. Hopefully his ears are as stuffed as his nose, distorting his hearing, because he sounds like he’s already got one foot in the grave.

There’s the sound of Robert’s luggage hitting the floor, which means he’d come straight here without stopping at home. He must not be planning to go home at all, since he’d brought the bag in with him. Joseph feels warm all over, but that could be the fever.

Robert steps into the living room, broad smile on his face. He’s removed his jacket, and the open v-neck of his shirt exposes the sharp protrusions of his collarbone, the thatch of grey-flecked hair on his chest. He’s got more than the usual two-or-three day’s worth of stubble, working his way toward an honest beard, like he’s been too busy to bother with it. Joseph knows he’ll shave it off within the next day or so, but for now, he anticipates the burn it’ll leave at his mouth and chest and thighs. There’s an intensity in his eyes that Joseph recognizes as the strain of time apart, but there’s hunger too, in the way his gaze sweeps over Joseph’s body, lingering on his bare ankles and unbuttoned shirt. Joseph shivers, a little. It’s not the fever.

“Somebody’s eager,” Robert says, stopping at the coffee table to toe out of his boots. Joseph wants to reach for him, but he doesn’t really have the energy to lift his arms, so he settles for lounging seductively against the arm of the couch.

“I’m not even going to deny it or try to engage in some kind of witty banter,” Joseph tells him.  _Mostly because my head feels like someone stuffed cotton in it_. “I want you and I missed you. Just kiss me.”

Robert obeys, sliding over Joseph’s prone body, hands trailing over silky fabric from his waist to his neck, cupping his jaw with gentle fingers. He kisses with restraint, gentle even when Joseph would have him be rough, the kiss more of a greeting than anything else.

“Hi,” Robert says, soft, pressing a kiss to the corner of Joseph’s mouth. He can be frustratingly tender, sometimes.

“Hi,” Joseph tries to reply, but the word sticks in his throat, sending him into another fit of hacking coughs. Robert pulls back, frowning. Joseph is flooded with dread, trying desperately to suppress the coughing. He holds his breath until his lungs feel like they’ll burst, but it isn’t enough to get Robert back where he was.

His hands come up to frame Joseph’s face before he lays one flat against his forehead. “You’re burning up,” he says, accusingly. “You’re sick?”

Joseph shakes his head weakly, not even enough to dislodge Robert’s hand. He’s still holding his breath, so he can’t answer with words. He just leans in, aiming for Robert’s mouth, intending to kiss him long and good enough to make him forget anything else. Robert pushes him back, hand at his head.

“You’re sick,” he says again, not a question this time.

“No, I’m not,” Joseph coughs out, gasping for air in between. “I just swallowed wrong. I’m fine, really.”

“Your eyes are glassier than mine late on a Friday night.”

“Try any night,” Joseph shoots back before he’s seized by another round of coughing. Robert grasps his shoulder, pulling him upright so he can rub his back in firm, soothing circles. Joseph rests his head on Robert’s chest, miserable.

“I know it’s the sickness makin’ you all mean and disagreeable, so I’m gonna let that one slide,” Robert says magnanimously. “Why didn’t you tell me you caught the plague?”

“I just woke up to it this morning,” Joseph rasps out, trying to speak carefully to avoid another fit. “I took medicine. It should kick in any minute.”

Robert snorts, inelegantly. “Bullshit. Only cure for this kinda thing is a solid coupla day’s sleep.”

Joseph makes a protesting noise that Robert mocks. “Robert, come on. We’ve been waiting for this. I cleaned the house!” Joseph lifts his head, imploring eyes meeting Robert’s. “I feel good enough for this, I swear. Just kiss me again.”

“I don’t want your germs.”

Robert laughs when Joseph pouts, ducking his attempts to draw him back into a kiss.

“Rob! We can’t waste this opportunity.” Joseph pauses, considering. “I shaved earlier.” He leans in, putting his lips to Robert’s ear, voice dropping enticingly. Minus the congested wheeze. “And not just my face.”

Robert groans, theatrically. “Don’t make it worse,” he scolds, turning his face into Joseph’s hair. “I’m not tellin’ you no because I want to.”

“So don’t tell me no,” Joseph wheedles, pressing his luck by trailing kisses along the column of Robert’s throat. He pretends the wetness he leaves behind is from his mouth and not his nose.

Robert is holding very still, hands resting against Joseph’s back, not encouraging but not discouraging, either. He lets Joseph find his mouth again, consenting to a deeper kiss than before. Joseph feels a thrill of victory, shifting closer, tilting his head to get a better angle. Robert’s fuller-than-normal beard tickles his nose, and Joseph sneezes. Just like that. No warning. Into Robert’s open mouth.

“Jesus Christ,” Robert sputters, jerking away. His beard is full of Joseph’s snot. He rubs a hand across his face, looking between Joseph and the hand in abject horror. Joseph stares back, mouth open to apologize, but the expression on his face is too good. Joseph bursts into laughter, gasping with it when Robert’s face settles into a heavy scowl.

Of course, he starts coughing before he can say anything, harsh and painful. Robert touches his back again, gently. “I’m gonna get you some water,” he says, sounding disgruntled but concerned. Joseph catches his hand as he stands.

“Cough drop?” he manages, falling back against the couch when Robert nods. His head is killing him again, not amenable to the frequent bouts of coughing. His throat feels like someone’s been walking around it in cleats, and not the soft spike kind. The sneeze cleared his sinuses briefly, but he can already feel them closing up again. Fucking colds.

Robert comes back with a tall glass of lukewarm water, guessing correctly that cold would be torture right now. He’s got a handful of troches, unwrapping one and handing it over when Joseph finishes his water. Joseph gives him a wane smile in thanks.

“Think you can make it upstairs?” Robert asks, pressing the back of his hand to Joseph’s forehead again, his own brow wrinkled in worry. “Probably be more comfortable.”

“I’m not going upstairs unless you promise to fool around with me,” Joseph insists, stubbornly. “Otherwise, the fresh sheets and candles and flowers are just going to depress me.”

“You got candles and flowers?” Robert asks, sounding amused. “I ain’t your girl, you know.”

“You’re my man,” Joseph counters, leaning into the touch when Robert’s hand slides down to cup his cheek. “I want to seduce you.”

“Sneezing in my face was a good start.”

Joseph huffs a laugh, turning his face into Robert’s hand, slightly embarrassed now that the amusement has faded. He knows Robert won’t hold it against him but still. How mortifying. “Let me make it up to you,” he implores, still going for sexy. “However you want. Whatever you like.”

Robert fixes him with a considering look. “I like those pajamas,” he admits, trailing a finger across the line of Joseph’s shoulders. “But what I’d really like is to just curl up with you in those fresh sheets of yours for a few hours.”

“Rob…”

“Hey, I’m tired too, kid,” Robert insists, still running his hands over Joseph’s chest. “I’m gonna need my rest if I’m gonna fight off whatever it is you’re trying so hard to give me.”

“I’m trying to give you my -” Robert covers Joseph’s mouth with a hand, eyebrow raised in amusement.

“We’ll see how you feel after some sleep, how’s that?” Robert promises, prodding Joseph until he stands, a little wobbly as his head swims. Robert fits himself under his arm, wrapping his own around Joseph’s waist tightly. “We can try the sneezing thing again. I could maybe get into it.”

“Rob,” Joseph groans, shuffling his way up the stairs at Robert’s behest. Rob just laughs, easing him down at the edge of the bed. He helps Joseph swing his legs up on the mattress, tucking the sheets around him once he’s situated. Joseph makes a helpless noise when he steps away, but Robert just winks at him, pulling his shirt over his head.

“I know I tell you this all the time, but today I mean it literally when I say you’re hot, baby.” Robert shucks his pants next, crossing to the other side of the bed before sliding in next to Joseph. “If I’m gonna sleep with you, I gotta lose some layers.”

“You could lose them all,” Joseph suggests, scooting closer to Robert and hooking a leg over both of his, trapping him beneath Joseph’s greater weight. He props himself up on an elbow, leaning in to share a honey-lemon flavored kiss. Robert catches his wandering hand before it can reach the waistband of his briefs.

“Nice try. Turn over.”

Joseph complies happily, flipping onto his stomach and smiling across the bed at Robert. Robert shakes his head, pulling at Joseph’s far shoulder until he’s up on his side, fitting himself in close to his back.

“I meant like this,” Robert clarifies, dropping an arm over Joseph’s waist. His hands, typically so warm and rough, feel almost cool against Joseph’s heated skin, as does his nose when he presses it to the back of Joseph’s neck.

Joseph settles back into him, shifting more than is strictly necessary just to feel the weight of Robert’s groin against his ass.

“Stop that,” Robert demands, gruffly, when it’s clear he isn’t doing the best job of ignoring him.

Joseph smiles at the wall, turning his head slightly to catch a glimpse of Robert in his periphery. He has his eyes firmly closed, but Joseph can see the tension in his mouth. He’s working so hard to keep himself in control. All Joseph would need to do is-

“I can hear you thinking. Go the fuck to sleep, Christiansen, or I’ll leave.” Robert softens the threat with a kiss at the juncture of Joseph’s neck and shoulder. His fingers brush over Joseph’s stomach, comforting. “It looks real romantic in here, by the way. You done good.” Joseph just sighs.

“I had plans, you know,” he tells Robert, mournfully, coughing a little. His head feels like it’s in a vice. “We weren’t going to leave the house all weekend. I stocked up on food and alcohol. And lube,” he adds, as an afterthought. “And not the boring kind, either. I got flavors, Rob. And the warming kind. And -”

“Joseph,” Robert whines. “Stop. We still aren’t going to leave all weekend. We’re gonna stay right here.” He pulls Joseph closer for emphasis. “This is good, baby.” He kisses across Joseph’s shoulders, beard scratching like Joseph knew it would.

Joseph sighs again, linking his fingers through the ones Robert has on his stomach. “Will you fuck me, like this, when we wake up?”

Robert makes a pained noise, hips pressing into Joseph’s ass briefly. Joseph grins. Everything he ever says is designed to wind Robert up. If he were feeling just a little stronger, he’d turn over and put Robert on his back. He knows he wouldn’t resist, at this point. But the sheets are still cool, and the pillow is so soft, and he really is so tired. And Robert feels so solid at his back, strong and hairy and heavy. At over six feet and two hundred pounds, there aren’t a lot of people who can make Joseph feel small. There’s no one in the world who can make Joseph feel small like Robert can, even if he’s technically the bigger of the two. His presence is just so big. It overwhelms all of Joseph’s senses. And those damn broad shoulders.

“I promise,” Robert is saying, voice muffled in Joseph’s neck, “we’ll get through at least one of those bottles of lube you bought this weekend. Even if it kills you.”

Joseph laughs, then coughs. Robert rubs his back apologetically.

“That’s generous of you,” he wheezes out, finally. Robert hugs him close, and Joseph closes his eyes, still cursing his luck but content with this. For now.

“Anything for you, darlin’.”


	4. Rose Colored Glasses

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for anonymous who said: Robert has to get bifocals. He hates this. Joseph makes him feel better about it

“Not a word,” Robert warns, pulling the door open ever so slightly, just enough that Joseph can slip through before he slams it back. He doesn’t need any nosy neighbors seeing him like this. He rolls his eyes at Joseph’s guileless expression, turning away to sulk his way back to the living room. **  
**

“What do you mean, ‘not a word’? I’m not allowed to comment? Robert!”

Joseph trails after him, poorly-disguised amusement in his voice. He turns the light back on after Robert flicks it off, with more force than is strictly necessary.

“No,” Robert finally answers, ignoring Joseph’s pout. He sits in his favorite armchair and only protests a little when Joseph follows, perching on the arm of the chair to peer into Robert’s face. Robert averts his eyes, gaze fixed stubbornly on the far wall. He needs to paint. He’s never painted. These walls likely haven’t seen a drop of paint since the 70’s.

Joseph’s hands on his face bring Robert’s attention back to the other man, forcing him to meet those brown-flecked blue eyes of his. “Can I just say one thing?” Joseph asks, thumbing at the very edges of the large, squarish frames on Robert’s face. Robert catches his hands with a frown, pulling them away.

“Depends on what it is. If you call me four eyes, I’ll dump your ass.”

Joseph laughs, twisting his hands in Robert’s grip to tangle their fingers. “Are you sure you’re not going to do that anyway? You’re seeing me in HD for the first time. Maybe I’m not as good-looking as you remember.”

Robert squints up into Joseph’s face, pretending to consider it. “You do have a lot more wrinkles than I thought.”

Joseph whips the glasses off Robert’s face, holding them playfully out of reach above their heads. “Who needs to see, then?” He lets Robert wrap both arms around his waist, pulling him into the older man’s lap.

“What were you going to say?” Robert asks, not faking the squint this time. He didn’t even realize how badly he’d needed the damn glasses until he’d had them, and suddenly road signs could be read  _before_  he was right on top of them. Until he’d gotten a good look at Joe and been able to see the gorgeous fine lines of laughter around his mouth and eyes all the more clearly. As much as he hates the damn things, that almost makes them worth it.

Joseph smiles at him, slipping the glasses back over his ears, settling them gently on the bridge of his nose. He leans in to kiss Robert softly, still smiling. “I was just going to tell you how  _fucking hot_  you look in these.”

Robert grunts in surprise as Joseph presses nearer, angling for a real kiss. “They make me look  _old_ ,” Robert corrects him. He runs one hand up Joseph’s back, under his polo, slipping the other beneath the waistband of his slacks, relishing the smooth warmth of his skin.

“Yeah, like a really hot grandpa,” Joseph says, eyes blinking open when Robert scoffs.

“Fuck, Joe, I knew they’d age me but not that much.” Robert lets go of Joseph to try and take the glasses back off. Fucking old man bullshit, he can see perfectly fine without them, thanks very much. Even if he does have to hold his drafting paper two feet from his face to be able to see his own designs.

Joseph catches his hands again, putting them back on his ass. “I told you, I like it. You’re all mature and wise looking. It’s  _hot_ ,” he stresses, giving Robert another tease of a kiss. “And besides, you could totally be a grandpa. Val’s old enough. Just because she doesn’t have kids doesn’t mean she couldn’t.”

“I think we should talk about your apparent burning attraction to old men,” Robert says, indulging Joseph when he presses their foreheads together, laughing.

“It’s not old men,” Joseph tells him, pulling away to meet his eye. “It’s just one old man in particular.”

Robert pinches his waist, right where that little bit of softness peeks over his pants. Joseph starts, then laughs. “You smudged my glasses, by the way.”

Joseph grins, unrepentant. “I’d like to do a lot more than that, if you’d let me.”

Robert’s heart rate jumps at the low, suggestive tone Joseph’s adopted. “Meaning?” he asks, his own voice suddenly gruffer than normal. Joseph runs his hands up and down Robert’s arms, considering.

“I kind of want to come on them,” he says in a rush, like he has to say it fast or not say it at all. Robert’s eyes go wide, the effect possibly comically magnified by the strength of his lenses.

“Yeah?” he manages, grip tightening on Joseph’s hips. That kid never fails to surprise him. He’s so much dirtier than the clean-cut, pink-polo, blonde-hair, white-teeth exterior would ever suggest. Robert loves him.

There’s a faint, slightly embarrassed blush high on Joseph’s cheeks, but he nods firmly anyway. Robert is so proud of him. “I’ve been thinking about it basically since you told me you’d ordered them.”

“Fuck,” Robert breathes, leaning in to seal his mouth over Joseph’s in a harsh kiss.

“Is that a yes?” Joseph moves back to ask, the hunger in his eyes belying his casual tone. He nudges Robert’s glasses up with the tip of his sharp nose, fogging the lenses, not to mention Robert’s senses. This close, Joseph is all he can see, smell, feel. He can hear the quickness of Joseph’s breath, an echo of his own. He can taste the desire on his tongue when Joseph kisses him again, deep and dirty. At this point, he’d probably let Joseph talk him into eating the damn glasses, if that’s what he wanted.

“It’s always a yes with you, you know that.”

Joseph smiles, a hint of smugness in the expression. “It’s dangerous to give me that much leeway.”

Robert returns his smirk, brushing their lips together. “I like to live on the edge, baby.”

The next few minutes are a haze of wet kisses and rough hands, a shift in position that leaves Robert kneeling between Joseph’s legs, naked from the waist down. Joseph is the reverse image, stripped from the waist up, pants unzipped and open just enough that Robert can slip a hand in. Joseph’s hands are clenched in the fabric of Robert’s henley, stretching the material at the neckline. Robert has a dozen like it. He couldn’t care less.

“Robbie,” Joseph is moaning, head tipped back to expose the column of his throat, long and pale like the rest of him. Robert rests his chin on one of his generous thighs, feeling the tension beneath the khaki. He’s loathe to admit it, but he really can see so much better. Even at this distance, he catches the flutter of Joseph’s eyelids when he presses his thumbnail to slit at the tip of his cock. He can see the way Joseph’s nostrils flare on a sharp inhale when he applies just the right amount of pressure. He doesn’t miss a single nuanced expression, and it’s adding to the sensuality of the experience like he couldn’t have imagined. Damn his old man eyes for causing him to miss out on this for so long.

Robert focuses all his attention on Joseph for now, ignoring his own arousal in favor of watching Joseph’s play out across his face in stark relief. “You really are into these, aren’t you?” Robert asks, thrilling at the noise Joseph makes when Robert presses his face to the side of his cock, letting it slip up under the glasses a bit at the edge, lifting them away from his face slightly. Joseph grabs Robert’s chin, holding him in place to thrust into the gap he’s created between the frames and his temple. It’s hot enough that Robert doesn’t even care how ridiculous it is. Joseph’s unabashed lust is worth any oddities about the situation. He doesn’t even mind the glasses at this point, if wearing them can reduce Joseph to this.

“So much,” Joseph is saying through gritted teeth, already just this side of desperate. Robert is barely stroking him now, just letting Joseph rub himself against his face. And the glasses. They’re worth their weight in gold at this point. “You should,” Joseph is panting now, watching himself essentially fucking Robert’s glasses at this point, “never….fuck, Robert….you should never take them off. I fucking love -” Joseph cuts himself off with a long moan when Robert tightens his grip, giving him a better pocket to thrust into.

Robert backs off a little, ignoring Joseph’s whimpered protests. “You’re gonna be coming in my hair if you stay like that,” Robert shushes him, resisting Joseph’s attempts to draw him back in. “And this whole thing’ll be for nothin’. Aim for the glasses, sweetheart.”

“You sure?” Joseph checks, a little too late in Robert’s opinion because he’s already smeared precum over every inch of the damned things. But endearing nonetheless.

“Go for it, babe. I don’t wanna be able to see a thing outta these when you’re done.”

That’s all the permission Joseph needs before letting go, eyes as open as he can keep them in the midst of it all, watching the pearly strings of his release as they cling to Robert’s nose, cheeks, eyelashes, but mostly watching the way it coats the lenses of his glasses. Robert tilts his head accommodatingly, closing his eyes to keep the worst of it out. He doesn’t need to see. He can hear how pleased Joseph is, can feel it in the reverent brush of fingertips on his face. Joseph’s hands wander to the frames themselves, smearing the traces of himself across the lenses with his thumbs.

“These are never going to be unsmudged,” he tells Robert, not sounding the least bit apologetic. Robert smiles, a little.

“Lenscrafters is really gonna regret their free cleaning and adjustment service after they get a load of me.” Robert pauses, reconsiders. “Well, a load of you, really.”

-x-

Joseph goes with him to the store, just to see the look of barely concealed horror on the poor employee’s face when Robert hands the glasses over.


	5. Scared to Hurt Yourself

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for anonymous who said: Soooo…how did Robert get that scar?!?!??!

“Just leave it, Joe.”

Joseph frowns, still tracing a gentle finger over the prominent scar cutting an impressive line between Robert’s pectoral muscles. They’re lounging in the half-light that is Robert’s bedroom at dusk. Robert’s smoking his fourth post-coital cigarette, despite Joseph’s disapproval (“It’s my room, sweetcheeks. You’re free to leave.”), and neither of them have made any attempt at getting redressed. Joseph needs to get home, knows his kids are going to be asking after him, that Mary will be getting anxious to head out for the night, but he can’t quite bring himself to leave, not now that he’s finally worked up the courage to ask about Robert’s mark.

“Is it something completely embarrassing?” he tries again, voice light. “Like, I have a scar on my knee from giving Chris a horsey ride around the backyard and crawling right over top of -”

“Stop,” Robert interrupts, and his tone is such that Joseph doesn’t need to be told twice. “It’s not cute or funny or anecdotey. I don’t want to talk about it, okay? Fucking drop it.” He sits up from his reclined position, dislodging Joseph where he’d been propped up against his chest.

Joseph lets himself be pushed to the side, lets Robert roll his way out of bed, watches him stalk to the en suite and shut the door firmly between them. Light filters out from under the door, too bright in the once-comfortable gloom. Joseph hears the water running, what sounds like Robert washing his face. He shifts onto his back with a sigh, cursing himself for pushing it. If there’s one thing he knows about Robert after all these years, it’s that he doesn’t like to be pushed.

But Joseph also knows that, after all these years, he’s earned a little bit of pushiness, damn it. He’s been there enough, shown up enough, proven himself enough to deserve Robert’s trust. Joseph doesn’t understand why he’s still so closed off, after everything. After what they are to each other. Joseph trusts Robert with his life. Literally because one word to the wrong person could see Joseph’s carefully constructed sham of a marriage crumbling at his feet. But he trusts Robert to keep his secrets. The fact that Robert doesn’t feel the same is a source of endless frustration and anxiety. If Robert doesn’t see this as a relationship, one where trust and communication are key, then what are they even doing? What is Joseph even doing here?

The bathroom door creaks open before Joseph can get up and gather his things in a fit of crippling doubt. Robert stands in the frame, still naked as the day he was born, backlit, but Joseph can see the regretful furrow of his brow.

“Still here, huh?” he says, lowly, but there’s no harshness to his voice now. Joseph recognizes the chagrin that always colors his words after one of his outbursts. He smiles softly, shrugging, and it’s enough of an invitation for Robert to slide back in the bed, farther away than before but still present. He’d left the light on in the bathroom, and it spills across the room through the ajar door.

Joseph watches Robert’s eyes, a washed out brown in the artificial light. Robert is brushing ash from the sheets, shaken loose by his abrupt departure. At least he’d remembered to stub the cigarette out on his way. What he’s really doing is avoiding Joseph’s gaze, but Joseph has four kids. He’s familiar with the tactic. And he’s always been too patient for his own good.

Eventually, Robert blows out a breath, reaching across the space between them to take Joseph’s elbow, pulling him close. Joseph considers resisting, on principle, but he never wants to miss a chance to be near Robert. They settle much like they were before, Joseph’s head tucked against Robert’s neck, Robert’s arm behind his shoulders. Joseph keeps his hands to himself, for now, punishing Rob a little. He didn’t miss how this position gives Robert an excuse not to meet his eyes. He doesn’t speak, either. There’s no need to make this too easy on Robert.

“Sorry,” Robert finally mutters, low enough that Joseph could ignore it. Robert probably wants him to. But after all this time, he knows better than to expect Joseph to keep quiet about anything.

“I’m sorry, too,” Joseph says immediately, shifting so the words aren’t mumbled into Robert’s collarbone. “I know I’m a little pushy sometimes, but I can never get you to talk to me otherwise, Rob. And you know I only ask because I care about you, and I want to know things about you because I want to know  _you_ better, and I just wa-”

Robert closes a hand over his mouth, not ungently. Joseph rolls his lips together, swallowing the rest of his rambling. He gazes up at the side of Robert’s face, waiting.

“I don’t see how collecting useless facts about people’s past qualifies as knowing them,” Robert starts, pressing harder when Joseph tries to protest against his hand. “I think it’s enough that we know each other as we are now, without all the minutiae. But,” he says, louder, not giving in to Joseph’s huffs of displeasure, “I know knowing these things is important you. I don’t always like your asking about them, and I don’t always want to tell you, and I _won’t_ always tell you, but I know you like to know. And it’s…nice. That you care enough to ask.”

The last words sound like they took everything in Robert to say, like he’d forced them past years of deep-set, ingrained reticence. Joseph rewards his effort with a kiss to his open palm, still resting against Joseph’s lips. Robert’s fingers twitch, but he doesn’t remove his hand.

“You wanted to know how I got the scar?” he checks, nodding back when Joseph bobs his head, movements kept small with the hand over his mouth. “Bike accident,” he says, then amends it when Joseph’s eyes go wide. “Not like motorcycle.” Robert sighs, closing his eyes. Joseph has given up wondering when he’s going to drop his hand. It seems to bring him some measure of comfort, knowing he can tell the story at his own pace without Joseph being able to interject. Joseph wonders how much he actually talks, that Robert feels the need to silence him. It might be time for a little self-reflection on the matter.

Robert is silent for a spell, breath syncing up with the soft exhalations Joseph breathes against the back of his hand. He smells like nicotine and the generic, dollar store hand soap he always keeps in the bathroom. It’s soothing.

“I took Val for a bike ride at the shitty, slummy park near our shitty, slummy house. She must have been like seven or eight.” Robert pauses, swallowing hard. Joseph can hear his heartbeat beneath his ear, nervous and uneven. He kisses Robert’s palm again, spreading his own against the expanse of Robert’s flat stomach. “I was wasted,” Robert grits out, years of guilt and regret lacing the words. “I was always wasted, back then.” He gives a short, humorless laugh, not robust enough to shift Joseph. “I guess it’s not too much different from now, except I couldn’t hold my liquor as well then. Definitely not well enough to watch a kid, steer a bike, and smoke. I was mostly focused on the cigarette,” he continues, bitterly. “Like, of all things. That was most important to me. Anyway, there was a big hill that lead down to the parking lot. Val liked to ride down there so we could have coasting contests, see who could go the longest without pedaling. We’d fuckin’ book it down that hill, then coast around the parking lot until one of us fell over.”

Robert’s voice sounds thick, rich with memory as much as emotion, and Joseph considers breaking away from the hand over his mouth to tell him it’s okay, he doesn’t have to go on. But now that he’s started, Robert seems determined to finish. He takes a couple shuddery breaths before he continues.

“I don’t even remember getting to the top of that hill, that’s how gone I was. I just remember being pissed at how windy it was that day. I couldn’t get my cigarette lit, and Val was needling me, trying to get me to hurry up. I,” Robert sounds angry now, at himself. At the world. “I yelled at her. Told her to stop being such a needy little shit. She started to cry, and I was frustrated, and was just like ‘fine! let’s go!’ and took off without her.” He shakes his head, and Joseph can see the tension in his jaw. “I was drunk, and mad, and only had one hand on the bike. It was a gravel path. I ate shit. Like, spectacularly. Fucked everything up. Concussion. Broken wrist. This,” he gestures to the scar, disgustedly. “Val had to ride home for help. Seven years old, had to ride home by herself to tell her mom that her drunken asshole of a dad was lying at the bottom of a hill, passed out and bleeding everywhere. She had to see that, you know? She had to see that and react to it and -” He stops again, jerking away from Joseph to sit at the edge of the bed, breathing hard and shaking just slightly.

Joseph sits up more slowly, missing the weight of his hand already. He follows Robert to the edge, kneeling up behind him. He slips his arms around his chest carefully, unsure of his welcome, but Robert leans back into his touch. Joseph lets out a breath, hooking his chin over Robert’s shoulder, hands clasped together over the identic scar.

“That was kinda the last straw as far as me and Marilyn were concerned,” Robert tells him, quietly. Joseph can’t help the questioning noise he looses, because he knows the two of them had stayed married until Marilyn’s death. “Had myself a situation a lot like yours,” Robert clarifies, hands coming up to close around Joseph’s arms, keeping him close. His thumbs slowly stroke the jut at the outside of Joseph’s wrists. “We stayed together but it wasn’t…we weren’t together. Not that I blame her.” Another humorless laugh. “I didn’t even deserve that. She should have left. Taken Val and never seen me again.”

“Rob,” Joseph starts, but Robert squeezes his wrists, tight. Joseph is tired of being silenced, but letting Robert get it all out is more important that Joseph getting a word in edgewise.

“So that’s the story of the scar. Glamorous as you were hoping?” Robert asks, but it isn’t really a question.

Joseph turns his head, resting his cheek on Robert’s shoulder, thinking. “I would have stuck with you, too,” Joseph tells him, quietly. Robert scoffs, and Joseph talks over him. “Listen, I can’t pretend to know why Marilyn did it. Why she stayed. But if she ever felt even close to the way I feel about you, and if she saw the person I see, under the booze and the self-destruction and the cynicism, then she had a reason for -”

Robert interrupts him again, but not with words. He takes a sobbing, shuddering breath, face turned away from Joseph. He drops the hands on Joseph’s arms to cover his face, scrubbing at his eyes roughly. Joseph sits up slightly, mortified but also strangely gratified at finally drawing some kind of emotional reaction out of Robert. He drops a kiss at the back of Robert’s neck, running both hands up through his hair, brushing it back from his forehead. Joseph kisses him again and again, the side of his neck, the shell of his ear, the crown of his head. Robert’s breath catches a few more times before finally evening out. He sighs explosively, leaning back into Joseph’s embrace again.

“I think I love you, you know that?”

Joseph closes his eyes, nose pressed to Robert’s smoke-scented hair. They breathe in unison for a while, sitting naked on the edge of Robert’s giant bed, yellow light warming their features.

“I know.”


	6. Step Right Up (And Get Your Tickets)

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> prompt fill for anonymous who said: Fic idea of an amusement park date between Robert and Joseph and Robert finds out Joseph is terrified of roller coasters while Robert is an adrenaline junkie. Bonus if they end up fucking in the bathroom stall somehow

“You don’t gotta hang on so tight, I ain’t goin’ anywhere.” Robert tugs up on the metal bar across their laps for emphasis, using the hand not currently locked in Joseph’s vice-like grip. Joseph doesn’t relax an inch; back ramrod straight, staring fixedly ahead, clutching Robert’s hand for dear life. They aren’t even moving. “Joe?” **  
**

Joseph glances over quickly, snapping back to attention in the blink of an eye. He’s looking at the mouth of the ride’s tunnel like it’s the gaping jaws of death. Robert is trying really hard not to laugh at him.

“Baby, it’s a kiddie roller coaster,” Robert tries again, amusement bleeding into his caring tone. “It doesn’t go upside down or fast or anything. It’s lame,” he adds, a little disappointed. He hadn’t know about Joseph’s apparent crippling fear of anything fast and fun, or he never would have brought him to Six Flags. Robert had thought it would be a change from their usual dates, which mostly consisted of getting drunk and fucking on Joseph’s boat. It’s hard to get romantic when one of you has a passel of kids hanging around. And Robert had also thought it’d be fun to go on the rides Joseph wouldn’t be able to if the kids were there. Except apparently Joseph is worse than any kid. Robert would bet his best knife that the twins would ride Fireball with him. Joseph, on the other hand, had taken one look at the seven-story inverted coaster and turned an interesting mix of white and green.

So now they’re over in kiddie land, two grown men sticking out like a sore thumb among the throngs of over-excited, over-sugared brats eager to get their first taste of a real roller coaster, even though CatWoman Whip is barely a step up from the train rides you can take at the mall. But Joseph is acting like they’re getting ready to go over Niagra Falls and their barrel’s sprung a leak.

“You’re sure we can’t ask them to move us to the back?” Joseph asks, barely opening his mouth, like he thinks he’ll be sick if he gets carried away. Robert almost wants to ask them if  _he_  can move away from Joseph.

“There ain’t no difference between back and front,” Robert tells him flatly, squeezing his hand. “This ride barely gets off the ground, hun. You’re not gonna be starin’ over the edge of a death-defying precipice or whatever you’re scared of.”

“I’m not  _scared_ ,” Joseph insists, with a tremor in his voice. “I get motion sick, I told you.”

“Funny how you’ve never mentioned it in all the hours we’ve spent on your boat. You know, out on open water? In constant motion? Rocking?”

Joseph ignores him, eyes widening in alarm as they finally jolt into movement. He pulls Robert’s hand into his lap, clutching it with both of his own now, nails digging furrows into Robert’s palm and wrist. He’s trembling, slightly.

“Joseph,” Robert laughs, shaking him off to wrap an arm around his shoulders instead. Joseph’s hands shoot back up to catch his, pulling Robert as close as he can get from his bucket seat. “It only goes 22 miles an hour! You could ride your skateboard faster.”

“Only downhill,” Joseph says, shrilly. “And I don’t go downhill. There’s a reason I don’t go downhill, Robert!”

Robert just laughs again, stroking the back of Joseph’s hand soothingly with his thumb. Around them, kids giggle and shriek and carry on, this being one of the bigger rides they qualify for without a guardian, leaving them free to act up in a way kids only do when they’re surrounded by other kids. Normally, Joseph would be encouraging them, making friends and learning names. He’s a kid-magnet. They flock to him.

Now, they’re quietly making fun of the large, terrified man with the large, amused companion in the front cart. Robert can hear them whispering, imagines the conversations taking place behind grubby little hands. Joseph is oblivious to anything but the track in front of them.

Joseph doesn’t loosen his grip the entire ride. He clings to Robert, stretching over to bury his face in the older man’s neck. He’s breathing fast, practically panting into Robert’s ear. He lets out a little gasp or whimper with every turn, and Robert is loath to admit it’s not  _not_  affecting him. Joseph’s fear isn’t supposed to turn him on. But there’s something about Joseph needing him to protect and comfort him, something base and primitive and ridiculous, but something all the same. Something that makes Robert shift in his seat. He’s glad for the wind generated by the ride, cooling his suddenly flushed face.

The ride lasts all of a minute, but Joseph looks like he’s run a triathlon when they reach the end. Sweat dots his forehead and darkens the neck of his polo. He’s still too pale, which only serves to highlight the redness of his bitten lip. His eyes are still wide, nostrils flared with his continued labored breathing. Fuck, he’s hot.

Robert shifts again, uncomfortably. He conjures the least sexy images he can think of, unwilling to climb out of this ride with a hard on, especially considering the number of kids around them. Some well-meaning parent would probably beat the shit out of him.

“You lived,” he says to Joseph, offering him a strained smile. “Doin’ okay?”

“I lived,” Joseph replies, haughty. He shrugs Robert’s arm off, annoyance bleeding through now that he doesn’t need Robert’s comfort. “You are not allowed to make fun of me. I  _told_  you I didn-”

Robert leans in to kiss him, ignoring the sullen, indifferent teenager trying to lift the bar to free them from the ride. He kisses Joseph briefly, twice for good measure, brushing a thumb over his bottom lip in apology. Joseph’s got a little color back now, high in his cheeks.

“C’mon, before they send us around again.”

Joseph scrambles away at that, giving a laughing Robert a good look at his perfect ass as he clambers over the side of the ride. Robert would smack him, if they weren’t in public. At least, if they weren’t in front of the children.

Robert follows more slowly, taking the hand Joseph offers to pull him up. When did he get so damn old?

“So, what now?” Joseph asks, with a hint of trepidation. He keeps Robert’s hand, tucking himself close to his side. Robert leads him carefully through the hoards of families scattered around the park, finally finding a secluded bench hidden away in the designated smoking area. They sit, still pressed close, and Robert pulls out his cigarettes.

“Want one?” he offers, tipping the pack towards Joseph. “It’ll calm your nerves.”

Robert almost falls off the bench when Joseph accepts, plucking one free and popping it in his mouth without a word. He looks expectantly at Robert until he recovers, fumbling his lighter out of his pocket and bringing it Joseph’s mouth. Joseph breathes in, carefully, and the sight of his plush mouth wrapped around one of Robert’s Marlboros is not doing anything to quell Robert’s persistent libido.

“Don’t inhale,” Robert says, too late. Joseph coughs, waving Robert away when goes to take the cigarette back.

“I’m fine, I got it,” Joseph insists, a little hoarsely. “It’s just been a while.” He takes a couple drags under Robert’s attentive gaze, smiling slightly when he catches his eye. “Thanks,” he says, finally, handing the dart over. Robert takes a few slow pulls of his own, imagining he can taste Joseph in the paper, smoke curling out around a subtle smile when Joseph watches him back.

“Anything in particular you wanna do next?” Robert asks, leaning back against the bench and stretching his legs out in front of him. Joseph rests a hand on his thigh, index finger tracing the seam of his cargo pants. He’s frowning, mouth pulled into a petulant but adorable pout. Robert likes Joseph when he’s a little bratty.

“Not really,” Joseph answers bluntly, fingers digging harder into the meat of Robert’s thigh. Not that there’s much meat to be had. Still, the pressure feels nice. “Why?” he asks, shooting Robert a suspicious look. “Is there something you had in mind?

Robert shrugs, carefully, not meeting Joseph’s eye. “I had a couple thoughts,” he hedges, taking another deep drag, letting Joseph sweat it out for a minute. “If you’re interested.”

Joseph narrows his eyes, sensing Robert’s tone. “Such as?”

Robert gives him a significant look, raising his eyebrows. Joseph huffs a disbelieving breath, but his grip tightens.

“Seriously?” he says, glancing around. They’re relatively isolated, but the noise and bustle of the rest of the park is only steps away. “Here?”

“Doesn’t have to be exactly here,” Robert says, shrugging. “Just a thought.”

“You just come up with it or?”

Robert shrugs again, a little less casually. “Been thinking about it. You know, you were gettin’ real close on that ride.” He smiles over at Joseph, cigarette between his teeth. “You bein’ all needy and shit gets me hot.”

“You’re ridiculous,” Joseph tells him, but Robert recognizes the dark look in his eyes. “And I wasn’t being ‘needy’. Holding your hand isn’t neediness.”

Robert scoots closer on the bench, turning so they’re mostly facing each other. He matches the hand on his thigh with one of his own on Joseph’s, sliding up slowly. “Yeah? You wanna show me what needy looks like, then?” His fingers have found the fly of Joseph’s khakis, and the burgeoning hardness beneath it tells him everything he needs to know. “Yeah?” he says again, a little surprised. Joseph glares at him. Robert grins. “The ride get you hot and bothered, too? You get off on danger, Joe? Staring death in the face like that?”

“God, shut up,” Joseph whines, jerking his head away when Robert goes to kiss him. “I told you you’re not allowed to make fun of me.”

“If I can’t, who can?” Robert asks, lips finding Joseph’s jaw instead, undeterred. “I’m down for anything that turns you on, baby.”

“I wish you wouldn’t keep trying to find things  _here_ ,” Joseph complains, still not doing anything to stop Robert’s questing fingers.

“There’s a bathroom about 20 yards back.”

Robert barely gets the words out before Joseph is yanking him to his feet. Robert manages to aim the burnt-out cigarette for the receptacle before Joseph drags him away, stumbling a little in their headiness. Robert knows they’re drawing looks. He doesn’t care.

Joseph seems even less concerned with the scene they’re making. He practically forces Robert through the door of the family restroom, slamming and locking it behind them. He spins around to look for Robert, who’s lounging against the far wall.

“Now what happens when some poor, stressed out parent comes banging on that door with a pack of kids in tow?” Robert teases, letting Joseph press him back into the handrail that borders the room.

“How many languages do you know how to say ‘occupied’ in?” Joseph asks, leaning in to kiss Robert below the ear. He bites a little, just enough to get Robert’s breath hitching.

“As many as it takes to get them to fuck off.”

Joseph laughs, pulling away to yank his shirt over his head, his normally perfect hair standing up in a blond halo for just a second. “I think ‘fuck off’ is universal,” he says, conversationally, like he isn’t busy stripping Robert out of his pants in a bathroom in the middle of a family-friendly theme park. “Lead with that.”

“Before you turn loose of those, there’s a condom and a packet of lube in my wallet,” Robert advises him, pulling his own shirt over his head. There’ll be time for slow undressing of each other and teasing touches to newly exposed skin later. Right now, Robert needs to satisfy his desire for speed, and if Joseph isn’t going to let him go on any real rides today, he’s gonna take what he can get.

“Do I want to know why you felt it necessary to stock up before bringing me here?”

Robert grins, watching Joseph tear open the lube without any hesitation, holding a hand out for Robert’s own. “I wasn’t sure if places like this still have the Tunnel of Love. I wanted to be prepared,” he tells Joseph, rubbing his freshly lubed fingers together to warm them up a little.

“You’re ridiculous,” Joseph says again, turning away to brace his hands on the edge of the sink. He watches Robert in the mirror, stretching to show off a little. Robert runs his clean hand slowly up over his ass, along the indent of his spine to rest between his shoulderblades, forcing him lower and exaggerating the arch of his back.

“Spread your legs a little more,” Robert says, voice low. Joseph complies immediately, recognizing the relative urgency of this encounter. Still, despite the time limit, Robert takes a few seconds just to look at him, the smooth expanse of his back, the smattering of freckles on his shoulders, the perfect fullness of his ass. “If we were literally anywhere else, I’d eat you out til you cried.”

Joseph moans, softly, pressing back into Robert’s touch as he wastes no time easing two fingers into him. “Trying to make me needy?” he pants, meeting the movements of Robert’s hand with abandon.

Robert stills his hand, watching in amusement when Joseph continues to move against him. “I don’t have to try and do anything. You get there all on your own.”

“Would you just hurry up?” Joseph snaps, a touch desperately. He tries to straighten up a little, gain more leverage, but Robert presses him back down. “Robert. Please?”

“You think you’re ready?” Robert checks, scissoring his fingers to test the stretch. It’s tight, but not unbearably so. He could be ready.

Joseph meets his eye in the mirror, looking faded but determined. “You fucked me this morning,” he reminds Robert. Like he needs reminding. Completely opposite from this, slow and warm and gentle. He doesn’t need reminding, but it doesn’t hurt to think about. “I’m fine.”

Robert takes him at his word, resisting the urge to baby him. Joseph has made it clear several times over the course of their relationship that just because there’s an age difference doesn’t mean Robert gets to treat him like a child.

He rolls the condom on in one efficient movement, sheathing himself in Joseph’s body in the next. Joseph’s head falls forward, hanging between his shoulders for a breathless moment before he looks up, catching Robert’s eye in the mirror. It’s a heady experience, watching Joseph’s face and watching himself sliding into him at the same time. Joseph smirks, a little, bearing down on Robert’s cock once he’s fully seated. Robert’s breath catches, and he takes hold of Joseph’s hips to keep him pressed close.

“You’re full of surprises, sweetheart,” Robert gasps, laughing when Joseph kicks him. “How you want it?”

“Quick and dirty,” Joseph groans back, muscles in his arms standing out when he grips the edges of the sink, fighting against the hold Robert has on him. “Rob, stop making me beg.”

“Haven’t heard any begging,” Robert says, a little labored from the effort of holding Joseph still. The guy is damn strong. “A little begging might be nice.” He punctuates the thought with a couple teasing thrusts, still not letting Joseph thrust back. Joseph glares at him through the mirror. Robert smiles, but it fades when he recognizes the impish light that comes over Joseph’s face.

“Please, oh please,  _Robbie_ ,” Joseph pleads, as sticky sweet and fake as the cotton candy Joseph had insisted on earlier that Robert can still taste on his tongue. “Robbie, I need you, Robb-”

Robert claps a hand over Joseph’s mouth, meeting his dancing eyes in the mirror. “I take it back. Shut up and be good til we’re done.”

“That’s romantic,” Joseph says, muffled around Robert’s hand. Robert snorts, inelegantly, then thrusts in hard enough to make Joseph slip. He braces a hand against the mirror instead, smiling when Robert drops the hand over his mouth to steady him with an arm around his waist. “Come on, honey. I need you.”

Robert pulls him upright, kicking his feet apart and pressing up against his broad back. The change in angle makes them both groan, and the urgency that abated in the midst of all their teasing comes rushing back. Joseph bends his knees a little to accommodate their height difference, head dropping back to rest on Robert’s shoulder. He seeks out one of Robert’s hands, bringing it down to wrap around his stiff cock. Robert gives him a squeeze before swapping hands for his lubed one, smearing the leftovers as best he can to ease the slide.

“Fuck, you feel…,” Robert starts, turning his head to kiss Joseph’s jaw.

“Yeah,” Joseph agrees, clearly torn between arching into Robert’s body or thrusting into his hand. Robert makes it easy on him, pressing in and holding deep, just undulating his hips, letting Joseph fuck his fist at his own pace.

His own pace turns out to be frenzied, fast and harsh until he’s panting with it, trembling and gasping as Robert bites his neck, low enough that the neck of his polo should cover the mark. “Come on, babe,” Robert commands, tightening his hand, corkscrewing his hips at the deepest point of penetration. Joseph whines desperately, ending on a harsh gust of breath as he comes over Robert’s fist. “Fuck, that’s it,” Robert moans, taking the opportunity to fuck Joseph at the same pace he’d been fucking Robert’s hand, finishing just a couple strokes behind him.

They rest for a handful of moments, both probably too old to fuck like that, needing longer and longer to recover with each passing year. But Robert wouldn’t trade Joseph for his youth, and so he just takes the time he needs to get his breath back, nosing in behind Joseph’s ear gently.

Eventually, Joseph brings their joined hands under the tap, running the water until they’re clean. Robert pulls out gently, smiling at Joseph in the mirror when he winces. “Probably shouldn’t just toss this in the trash, huh?” he asks, glancing around for something to do with the condom. “Don’t need any rugrats digging through while mom’s occupied.”

Joseph laughs softly, wincing again as he bends over to pull his trousers back up. “I guess it’d be okay to flush it, this one time.”

Robert takes care of it, getting dressed under Joseph’s watchful gaze. He doesn’t want to think about what his shirt might have been laying in on the restroom floor, pulling it over his head as quickly as he can.

Joseph’s waiting for him by the door, looking tired and happy. “Think you got a couple more rides in you, old man?”

Robert laughs, buckling his belt and shrugging back into his jacket. “I think I should be asking you that. You were on the rough one.” He winks at Joseph, who scoffs.

“I think we should ride Fireball,” Joseph says casually, leaning against the doorjamb.

“Oh yeah? What happened to being afraid?”

Joseph smiles at him, carefully. “Maybe I just wanted an excuse to hold your hand.”

He ducks out the door before Robert can catch him, laughing.

“I told you you were goddamn needy!” Robert yells after him, ignoring the scathing looks he’s met with when he steps through the door. Who knows how much they’ve heard. Judging by their scandalized faces, plenty. 

Joseph is waiting for him by the popcorn cart, and he’s smiling, holding out his hand. Robert can deal with a couple disgruntled parents, so long as he’s got Joseph looking at him like that.

“I’m not afraid, but don’t let go, okay?” Joseph asks, linking their fingers.

“Whatever you say, baby.”


	7. If It's Any Consolation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the "ever wonder if the world would be better off without you… ?" prompt from [this](https://knotsandknives.tumblr.com/post/167156112680/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill/) post

“Ever wonder if the world would be better off without you?” **  
**

Robert glances over, surprised. Joseph isn’t looking at him, gaze focused sightlessly across the still water. It’s a quiet night at the docks, moonless and warm. The deck of Joseph’s yuppie yacht is littered with various bottles in various degrees of emptiness. They haven’t spoken a word in nearly an hour, Robert would estimate, judging by the shifting position of the stars. There’s an aura about Joseph tonight, heavy and tangible. Robert’s left him alone, not because he isn’t curious. He just knows Joseph can never keep quiet for long.

“A world without this pretty face? Nah.” Robert preens, teasingly, causing Joseph to huff a laugh. “What’s up, kid?”

Joseph still hasn’t turned to look at him. He rests his forehead on the railing, legs dangling off the side of the boat. Joseph’s silent again for a spell, long enough that Robert starts getting antsy. He reaches for one of the bottles of zinfandel, taking a generous swig before bumping Joseph’s shoulder with his own, finally pulling his attention away from the water. Robert offers him the bottle, and Joseph accepts with a wane smile. Robert watches as he takes a deep pull, head tipping back, stray droplets of wine escaping the corners of his mouth to run down his throat. Robert leans in to catch them. No sense letting good wine go to waste.

Joseph sighs softly when Robert pulls away, passing the bottle back. He turns away again, shifting subtly enough that they’re no longer touching. Robert’s growing more concerned by the second. Joseph is the clingiest fucker he knows. It’s gotta be bad if he’s the one shying away from contact.

“Joseph,” Robert tries again, careful to keep his hands to himself, no matter how badly he wants to pull the younger man into his arms. “What’s wrong?”

Joseph shakes his head, draping his arms over the railing, fingers linked loosely in front of him. “Nothing’s wrong,” he says, finally, voice almost quiet enough to be lost in the whisper of the gentle waves lapping at the boat. “I was just thinking.”

“I gotta remember white wines make you all weepy,” Robert mutters, glaring at the bottle in his hands. Joseph’s head swings around, eyes blazing in the dim pier lights.

“I’m not ‘weepy’,” he barks, tone harsh. “People can have thoughts and feelings without being weepy. Emotion is not a weakness, or a burden you have to bear, Robert.”

Robert holds out his hands, placating. “Whoa, hey, that’s not what I meant. I’m just saying, the white makes you melancholy.” He’s still surprised by Joseph’s outburst, but Joseph seems to be over it.

“Maybe my life makes me melancholy,” he says, voice more resigned than angry now. Robert laughs, unwisely. It earns him another quick glare. Joseph shifts again, farther away, arms crossed over the railing now, posture more closed off than ever. He’s really in a mood, one Robert wishes he’d picked up on sooner. One that definitely isn’t amenable to teasing.

Robert bites back a host of snarky replies about how Joseph’s typical “Mr. Sunshine” demeanor doesn’t lend itself well to his newfound emo ‘tude. This seems like a real dolor, rather than a cheap wine-induced funk.

Robert mirrors Joseph’s position, still a safe distance away. He thinks about Joseph’s original question, taking it more seriously than before.

“I used to,” he says, lowly. “Wonder about it,” he elaborates when Joseph makes a face. Robert grimaces in a way that might be construed as a smile, by anyone who doesn’t know him as well as Joseph. “I’m sure Marilyn thought so. Val probably still does, to be perfectly honest.” He gives a weak chuckle, prompting Joseph to slide closer, fingers brushing his elbow. “When you’re on the wrong side of a weeklong bender, laid up with your wife crying downstairs and your kid crying in her crib, out of work for the fifth time in a year, the thought crosses your mind.” Robert shakes his head, now the one to search the water for answers. “There’s no doubt that they would have been better off without me. And maybe it would have contributed to some butterfly effect shit where my being gone would have led to the cure for cancer or world peace or something like that.” He shushes Joseph when he protests, catching one of his hands between his own. “But no matter how many times I thought it, how many times I may have wished it were true, I always figured there had to be a reason I was here. A reason to stick around.”

“Was there?” Joseph asks, whispers, really, like the words are too hard to speak aloud. Like Robert’s answer holds the weight of the world. “Because sometimes I feel like all I do is hurt people. That all I’m  _capable_  of is hurting people. Mary. You. Myself. No matter what I do, someone’s going to -”

“Are you going to let me answer the question?” Robert interrupts, not really annoyed. He just needs Joseph to stop talking because every word is like a barb, pricking and tearing at Robert’s heart.

“Sorry,” Joseph breathes, twisting Robert’s fingers painfully tight in his grasp.

“There’s a reason.”

Joseph waits, expectant, eyes searching Robert’s for all of three seconds before he can’t take it anymore. “Well!? What is it?”

Robert smiles, gently, pressing their foreheads together. Joseph is warm, like he always is, and he smells like a sea breeze, like he always should. “You really gotta ask me that?”

They’re still for a moment, gazes locked, breathing out of sync. Then Joseph’s eyes fall closed, and he sighs out a breath that tastes of weariness and wine against Robert’s chapped lips.

“I guess I don’t.”

Robert doesn’t ask for Joseph’s reason. He’s just gonna make damn sure that it’s him, for as long as Joseph needs it.


	8. As Far In As You'll Ever Be Out

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the "look at me - just breathe, okay?" prompt from [this](https://knotsandknives.tumblr.com/post/167156112680/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill/) post

Robert is leaning up against his truck, leather jacket in place, lazily smoking a cigarette and looking for all the world like the high school bad boy he certainly was, waiting for his blond, bubblegum, cheer captain girlfriend to make an appearance. The fact that Joseph actually  _was_ on the cheer squad is beside the point. 

The point is, Robert’s truck is parked out in front of Joseph’s house, and Robert himself is standing there, waiting to pick Joseph up for their first time out together since their…. _thing_  had gone public. He’s standing there, making a statement about the nature of their relationship, and Joseph is rooted to the floor in terror. He’s had his hand on the door since he heard Robert roll up, but he can’t bring himself to pull it open. Robert had honked, and again when he’d grown impatient, finally stepping out of the truck for an ostensibly stress-reducing smoke. And still, Joseph can’t move.

Eventually, Robert grows tired of waiting, and Joseph watches through the pane of glass at the top of the door as he makes his way up the straight path to Joseph’s porch. Robert catches his eye through the window, smiling questioningly at him before ringing the doorbell.

Joseph still can’t turn the handle.

“Joseph,” Robert laughs, smacking an open palm against the wood. “C’mon, baby. Get your hot ass out here.”

“I don’t think I’m ready,” Joseph calls back, mouth against the seam of the door. He feels terrible and scared and upset with himself. This shouldn’t be so hard.

Robert laughs again, a little less genuinely. “You know I don’t care if your hair isn’t perfectly gelled. Or if the crease in your pants isn’t crisp enough. Or if -”

“I don’t think I’m ready to do this.”

Robert cuts off his teasing tirade immediately. He’s too close for Joseph to see anymore, but he imagines the way Robert would turn his back to the door, resting his head against it, arms crossed over his chest, the picture of casual without any of the substance. He wants to open the door, let Robert fall through and into Joseph’s arms, lock them away in the relative privacy of his home and never have to worry about what anyone thinks. But Robert had insisted that they didn’t have anything to hide anymore, and he was through with hiding, besides.

“Open the door,” Robert says, soft like a request, but Joseph knows it isn’t. His fingers tighten on the handle, loath to ignore an order from Robert. 

But he can’t make himself turn it. He can’t take this step. He can’t open himself or Robert or his children up to the censor and reproach this relationship is sure to draw. He can’t.

“I’m not asking, baby.” Robert’s voice is no longer soft. There’s a note of steel in his tone that sends a shiver up Joseph’s spine. “Open the door.”

Joseph opens the door. Cracks the door is probably a truer statement. Joseph eases the handle over, allowing just the tiniest of gaps, just enough for Robert to fit a hand through. Joseph drops the handle and steps back, letting Robert push the door the rest of the way.

They stare at each other across the threshold, Robert with his smoldering presence and concerned gaze, Joseph with his sweaty palms and desperate eyes. 

Robert takes the first step because Robert always takes the first step. Because Joseph is a coward and a fraud and a heel. He lives in fear of the day Robert runs out of steps to take, and Joseph won’t be able to close the distance.

Today isn’t that day. Robert takes all the steps, breeching the gap across the entry to pull Joseph into his embrace. Joseph slouches into the touch, like someone had cut the strings that had been holding him up, taut and tense. He drops his head to Robert’s shoulder, smelling smoke and shampoo and Robert’s distinct but elusive cologne.

“You cleaned up for me,” Joseph mumbles into his jacket, unexpected tears pricking his eyes. Robert would smack him for thinking it, but he really is too good for Joseph.

“Damn right,” Robert murmurs back, trailing a gentle hand up Joseph’s back, ruffling his shirt where it’d begun to stick to his sweaty back. “And I’m not gonna let you waste it over a bout of nerves.”

Joseph pulls away, mouth twisted into a guilty frown. “It’s not just, like, first date jitters, Rob.”

“That’s good,” Robert shoots back, letting Joseph create space between them. “Because that’d be plain dumb, seein’ as this isn’t our first anything.”

“How can you say that?!” Joseph cries, incredulous, stepping inadvertently back into Robert’s space, to get a good look at his face, to check if he’s serious. He is. “Robert. This is the first people are going to….”

“Going to what?” Robert asks, tipping his head up to keep Joseph’s gaze. “See us together? That’s obviously not true. Assume we’re ‘together’ together? Because people have been doing that for years. Whisper about us? Tell their friends the preacher is fucking the drunk? Because -”

“Robert, stop,” Joseph begs, chest alarmingly tight. He’s gripping Robert’s shoulders without realizing, arms shaking with effort. Joseph drops his head, choking on nothing. Robert is speaking his fears into existence and Joseph can’t. He can’t. “I can’t, Robert, I ca-”

Robert’s hands come up to hold his face, forcing Joseph to meet his eyes again. “Look at me. Just breathe, okay? Breathe with me.” Robert guides Joseph through a few deep breaths, thumbs stroking over his cheeks soothingly, pausing at the corners of his mouth and eyes.

“Robert,” Joseph says, once he has the breath to do so. Robert smiles, encouraging. “I don’t know if I can do this. I’ve spent so long trying to hide from exactly this, and I don’t know if….”

“You think I’m gonna make you do it alone?” Robert asks, gentle like he thinks Joseph might bolt if he speaks above a hush. “You think I’m gonna let anyone say shit about you? Or to you?”

“It’s not about that,” Joseph argues, weakly.

“Then what is it about?”

“It’s,” Joseph pauses, considers. “I’m just…afraid,” he says eventually, soft and shameful.

Robert’s hands frame his jaw, tilting Joseph into a brief but heated kiss. Joseph leans into it, is grateful for the distraction, but Robert pulls away too soon.

“Is that all? Come on, honey, haven’t you heard?” Robert breathes against his mouth, holding Joseph just a hairsbreadth away. “I’m fuckin’ fearless. I got you, babe.”

Joseph laughs, a touch watery. He’s still afraid, will probably always carry this trepidation with him to some degree. He’s still in the dark as to what the future holds, other than the assurance he has that Robert will be there. Maybe that’s all that matters.

“I guess it really would be a shame to waste your monthly bath on a night in.”

Robert grins at him, and up close like this, he’s the most beautiful thing Joseph has ever seen.

“Damn straight, baby.”


	9. It's Sure Been a Cold, Cold Winter

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the "please come get me" prompt from [this](https://knotsandknives.tumblr.com/post/167156112680/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill/) post

“ _Come get me_ ,” Robert’s voice filters through the phone, hushed like he doesn’t want to be overheard, slurred like he’s on the other side of a bottle, just mean enough to raise Joseph’s hackles. He’s drunk and stupid, and Joseph is in no mood.

“That’s how you speak to someone you’re trying to get a favor out of?” Joseph bites back, righteous and judgmental. He hadn’t wanted to answer the phone in the first place, but the anxious part of him, the part that was born right alongside his first child, insisted that it could be something dire. That Robert might have been in some grave danger, and how would he feel knowing he’d let that call go to voicemail.

Of course, he should have known it would be nothing more dangerous than a 50-something year old man, fall-down drunk with his keys in the possession of his favorite bartender.

“ _Please come get me_ ,” Robert growls on the other end of the line, low and tight through ostensibly gritted teeth. Where he gets off copping an attitude with Joseph is beyond him. Robert was the one who picked a fight, Robert was the one who stormed out, Robert’s the one currently in danger of having to walk home in 3 inches of still-falling snow. He’s got some nerve.

“The kids are in bed,” Joseph says, a blatant lie. He’s hoping Robert is too drunk to remember the kids are at their grandparents’ for the weekend.

No such luck. Joseph always forgets how  _good_  Robert is at being drunk. Not that it’s anything to be admired. But the man can hold his liquor.

“The kids are in fucking Connecticut.”

Joseph sighs, big and deep enough that the weariness of it should be enough to penetrate Robert’s drunken haze. He needs Robert to know how much he’s inconveniencing him. How much of a burden he is on Joseph. How  _pissed_  Joseph must still be at him to even entertain those type of thoughts.

“It’s past midnight. I’m not dressed.” Even as he says it, Joseph is climbing out of bed, shivering against the chill of the room. He’d been too mad to turn the heat up as he’d stormed his way upstairs earlier.

“So what?” Robert says back, and Joseph can hear the leer through the phone. Unbelievable.

“Don’t fucking try and hit on me, Robert. I’m not in the mood,” Joseph snaps, angrily stuffing his feet into his sneakers, not even bothering with socks. He doesn’t bother with pants or a shirt, either. He refuses to put an ounce more effort into this mission of mercy than he has to.

“Wouldn’t dream of it,” Robert mutters. Joseph ignores him.

He recognizes that the only person he’s punishing is himself as he steps out the front door in a coat, unbuttoned over his bare chest, barely reaching the tops of his thighs, legs bare below the knee. The thin material of his boxers does nothing but make him colder. Joseph hisses, clamping his jaw before his teeth can start to chatter.

Robert is making soothing noises through the phone, but Joseph isn’t sure who they’re directed at. “I’m on my way,” he says shortly, hanging up the phone without waiting for a reply and tossing it into the passenger seat as he clambers into his SUV. Leather seats seem great in theory, with their easy cleanup and stain-resistant nature, perfect for hauling kids around, but in reality, they’re cold as hell against bare legs in sub-20 temperatures.

Joseph curses Robert’s name, heritage, pets, all the way to Jim and Kim’s. The drive isn’t even long enough for the heat to start working properly, but at least his seat warmer is doing its best to keep him from literally fusing to his ice block of a seat. He pulls crookedly into a parking spot, considers just sitting there without alerting Robert to his presence, but the cold air still blowing through the vents propel him out of the car, toward the warm lights of the bar.

It’s late enough, and the town is small enough, that Robert seems to be the only patron left in the dingy little dive. Joseph lets the door bang open, a swirl of icy wind and snow follows him in, and Robert’s head turns automatically toward the commotion.

“Jesus, Joe, you couldna least made yourself decent?”

Robert sounds like he’s trying very carefully not to slur his words, but there’s a glass of some amber liquid still held in his hand, and his perch on his stool is precarious at best. Joseph shares a look with the man behind the bar, whose name Joseph knows he should know but can’t be bothered to search for.

“I would have called him a cab or something, but he insisted you’d come get him,” he says apologetically, wincing at the sight of Joseph in what clearly are his sleep clothes. “Didn’t know he’d be dragging you out of bed.”

“He’s fine, he wasn’t sleepin’,” Robert interjects, before Joseph has a chance. “He’s too mad to sleep. Prob’ly just layin’ there, stewin’ an’ shit. Good fer ‘im to cool off.”

Joseph turns on his heel, ready to leave the way he came without a word, but Robert makes a distressed noise behind him, the clatter of the stool letting Joseph know he’s making an attempt to stand. Joseph turns around slowly, hands planted firmly on his hips, bare where his boxers have ridden down. Joseph doesn’t miss Robert’s sweeping glance, but neither does he acknowledge it.

“You’re drunker than you were when you called,” Joseph says, flatly, watching Robert struggle upright. There’s a pull to go help him, sling an arm around him and hold him close, settle him first in the car and then in bed, bring him water and aspirin and offer him slow morning sex to help him recover from his hangover. There’s this innate need to nurture him, but Joseph fights it. This will not be how their lives go, and Robert either needs to figure that out or….

Joseph shies away from finishing the thought, letting Robert brace a hand on his shoulder as he draws near.

“Drunker, yes,” Robert says, and if there was a continuation of that thought, it’s lost to the breeze when Joseph pulls the door open, offering a short wave to the bartender on their way out.

Joseph moves away from Robert when they reach the front of the car, headlights blindingly intense where they reflect off the gathering snow. Robert stumbles a little, but Joseph assuages the guilt by reasoning that, if he were to fall, at least the fall would be cushioned. He climbs back into a much warmer cabin, stretching his frozen fingers in front of the vents as Robert picks his way around to the passenger’s side.

“You’re gonna catch your fuckin’ death, comin’ out here like that,” Robert scolds slowly, not missing the way Joseph shivers when he opens his door. He takes his time getting in, anyway.

“It seems like there’s a way I could have avoided coming out here like this,” Joseph replies, barely waiting for Robert to slam his door before throwing the vehicle into reverse. Robert tips his head back against the seat, eyes closed, and Joseph can literally smell the alcohol on him.

“You coulda put some goddamn clothes on.”

“You could have put the goddamn bottle down.”

“Ooh, he is _mad_ ,” Robert whispers, mostly to himself. Joseph ignores him.

The snow hasn’t slowed a bit since it started falling, right around the time Robert had left, and Joseph says a quick prayer of thanks for four-wheel drive and light traffic. Still, even the large SUV has a little trouble climbing the incline of Robert’s driveway when Joseph swings in. The wheels spin, a little, and the resulting lurch causes Robert to open his eyes for the first time. He blinks around, slow and impaired, before frowning.

“You’re at the wrong house. I know it’s only a stone’s throw from your place but you shouldn’t be stompin’ around in the snow in that getup,” Robert tells him, words still fuzzy around the edges.

“I’m not at the wrong house. This is your house. Get inside.”

Robert keeps frowning at him, face lit by soft streetlights and even softer snow. “You kickin’ me out?”

“You let yourself out,” Joseph corrects him, trying to keep his voice neutral. “You made a choice. I’m just honoring your decision.”

“Aw hell, you’re sore at me?” Robert blurts out, regretting the outburst immediately as he raises a hand to his head. “I just needed to blow off some steam, honey.”

“You went. You blew. What else is there?” Joseph asks, determinedly not meeting his eye. Robert’s eyes are a weakness for Joseph. He can’t look at him and hope to maintain his resolve.

“What’s that supposed to mean?”

Joseph sighs, long and weary again. Robert isn’t impressed. “What else is there, Robert? If this is how you’re going to react every time we have an argument then…” Joseph trails off, tries to leave it there. Robert won’t let him.

“Then what?” he says, and there’s the danger Joseph was afraid of earlier. There’s the question he was trying to avoid asking himself.

Joseph grips the steering wheel, shrugging Robert off when he reaches for one of his shoulders, trying to turn him to face him. “Then I don’t know, Robert. I just know that this is not how I’m going to live. I already had a spouse who solved all of our problems with alcohol. I can’t do it again.”

“Since when am I your spouse?” Robert asks, and it’s not mean or cutting. Just curious, and perhaps a little hopeful. Joseph shakes his head.

“You know what I mean. Partner. Companion. Whatever.”

“I’m not saying I’m opposed to being your spouse,” Robert clarifies, more sober than he’s been all night.

Joseph shoots him an incredulous look, breaking his own rule about eye contact. “Seriously? Right now, you’re saying this to me? I’m talking about splitting up and you’re half-assedly proposing?”

Robert makes a face, eyebrows drawn together. “You’re not talking about splitting up. You’re mad.”

“And you left!” Joseph yells, fed up. “I get mad, and you leave. Or  _you_  get mad, and still, you leave. All you ever do is leave, Robert, and I’m not going to spend my whole life getting left.”

“So, what? You wanna stand in the kitchen and scream at each other? That’s what healthy relationships are built on?” Robert yells back, impending headache be damned apparently.

“They aren’t built on one person getting fall down drunk every time there’s a disagreement.”

“You knew about the drinking when we started this,” Robert reminds him. He’s the one avoiding looking at Joseph, now, eyes fixed pointedly out the windshield. “It’s always been a thing. I don’t….deal with confrontation well.”

Joseph blows out a breath, the too-hot car making it hard to think. He thinks about shutting the car off, but that would be too much of a concession. What he really needs is space. He wishes Robert would just go inside already, before they say something they’ll both regret.

“You don’t deal with confrontation at all. You bail. And I’m tired of being bailed on.”

“So, what?” Robert says again, and his voice has adopted that low, tight sound from before. The dangerous one. There’s danger everywhere they turn tonight, it seems. “You’re bailing on me now? The bailee becomes the bailer?”

Joseph drags his hands over his face, eyes stinging from the lateness of the hour, from the rush of emotion he can’t ebb. “I came to get you. And now I’m dropping you off.”

“Joseph,” Robert starts, hand on his arm again.

“Robert, please.”

“Please what?”

Joseph hangs his head, chin touching his chest, too tired to pretend he isn’t. “Go inside. Sleep it off.”

“And then what? Am I gonna wake up without a  _partner_?”

Joseph looks at him, long and hard. He sees the fear behind the indignation, the tremble in his hands and bottom lip, the desperation, and he wants to take it all back. To comfort and reassure him, like Robert so obviously needs. He also sees the glassiness of his eyes, the liquor weighing down his limbs, and wants to burn it all down right then, see what rises from the ash of their dysfunctional relationship.

“I’m going home,” Joseph says, slowly, surprising himself with how steady his voice sounds. “And you’re going to sleep it off. And then you’re going to think about what you want.”

“And then what?” Robert presses, almost begging now.

Joseph sighs again, his last one of the evening. He leans across Robert, opening his door for him, breathing in the bitterly cold night air. It freezes in his lungs, steals his breath, and so if the next words come out choked, Joseph knows what’s to blame.

“And then….please come get me.”


	10. You're Blood Red, Baby

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> for the "shit, are you bleeding?" prompt from [this](https://knotsandknives.tumblr.com/post/167156112680/send-me-a-pairing-and-a-line-of-dialogue-and-ill/) post

“Calm down, kid, you didn’t hurt me,” Robert soothes, tipping his head back and pinching his nose, blinking away the rush of tears. Sonofabitch, kids have sharp elbows. **  
**

“Then why are you crying?” Chris insists, sounding both both concerned and perturbed. He inherited Joseph’s abhorrence of lying, and Robert always finds himself getting reprimanded by both dad and his mini-me.

Robert swipes at his cheeks, wincing at the tenderness in his nose when he pokes at it. “Just surprised me, s’all.”

“You surprised me, too,” Chris tells him, still less than pleased. He’s eyeing Robert warily, like he thinks he’ll make a grab for him again. He’s a scrappy kid. Robert’s gotta remember to stop trying to sneak up on him.

“I gotta stop doing that, huh?” Robert asks, trying to smile but barely managing a grimace. It feels like the kid may have split his lip, too.

“There’s blood in your teeth.”

Definitely split his lip, then.

“There’s blood in whose teeth?” Joseph calls from kitchen, voice getting closer like he’s coming to investigate. Robert curses little kids’ inability to use inside voices. He’d rather Joseph not know about this. He’s enough of a worrywort as it is, with Robert just having moved in a week ago. He means well but he….hovers. Whenever Robert is with the kids, like he’s trying to make sure everything goes smoothly, then freaks out at the first sign of anything that comes across as less than idyllic. He’s gonna have a field day with Robert getting his nose busted.

Robert moves quickly, trying to surreptitiously steer Chris out of the living room before Joseph can get there, but the kid is as stubborn as he is honest. He plants his feet, arms crossed over his chest.

“Why are you pushing me?”

Again, with the lack of inside voice. Robert groans, dropping his hands from Chris’ shoulders and accepting his fate. Joseph’s perfectly coiffed head pokes its way around the doorframe, deceptively neutral smile fixed on his flour-streaked face. He’s been baking a  _lot_. Like brownies and chocolate chip cookies are the key to a happy, harmonious home. Maybe they are. Robert’s never lived in one. He wouldn’t know. But they certainly didn’t keep Joseph and Mary’s home happy, so he isn’t ready to throw his lot in with baked goods just yet.

“Chris?” Joseph tries again, when neither he nor Robert acknowledge his question. “What did you say?”

Chris and Robert share a look, and Robert hopes that a lifetime of living next door, combined with his fairly recent status as dad’s boyfriend, has established enough of a psychic connection between them that Chris can feel the waves of ‘don’t say a word’ emanating from him.

He’s always been a sensitive kid. He gives Robert a short nod, offers Joseph a confused shrug, and sort of drifts away, out of the room and up the stairs before Joseph can call him back. Robert smiles a little, feeling warm until he remembers the lip.

“Are you and my child in cahoots against me?” Joseph asks, sounding more pleased than annoyed, like cahoots are a good sign. Robert tends to agree.

Not verbally, though. That would require opening his mouth, the one that’s currently filling with blood. Robert takes a page from Chris’ book, and just offers a shrug. Joseph’s smile turns confused, and Robert matches each step he takes into the room with a backward step of his own.

“Robert,” Joseph laughs, sounding strained. “Why are you – wait, shit, are you  _bleeding_?”

He’s cornered Robert by now, staring into his face with a mixture of concern and revulsion. Joseph really doesn’t like blood, and by this point, Robert has noticed the telltale tickle of viscous fluid seeping from his stinging nose. He runs his sleeve under his nose, belatedly, running his tongue over his teeth in the same move. There’s blood at the back of his throat, too, leaking from his nose. Shit, he’s a mess.

Joseph overcomes his aversion to take Robert’s face in his hands, tilting him into better light. “You  _are_  bleeding,” he says, accusatory, like Robert had denied it.

“It’s no big deal,” Robert swears, sounding congested. Damn swelling nose.

“What the hell happened? Did Chris -”

“I said,” Robert repeats, pushing Joseph’s hands away, starting for the tiny guest bathroom on this level, “it’s nothin’. Let it be.”

“‘Let it be’?” Joseph scoffs, dogging his every step, nervous hands flitting to Robert’s shoulders and waist and elbows. “I hear you and my son whispering about blood, then he hightails it out of the room before I can see that you’re whispering about your blood, I find you practically half dead, and now you’re telling me to let it be?”

Robert laughs, switching on the bathroom light and meeting Joseph’s eye in the mirror over the sink. “What do you do when one of your kids scrapes a knee?”

“Pass out,” Joseph says seriously, looking everywhere but at the blood still dripping from Robert’s nose.

“I guess I’m the scraped knee parent now, huh?”

Joseph takes a hitching breath, fingers tightening on Robert’s shoulders. He turns Robert around slowly to face him, blood be damned, apparently.

“I never want you to feel like I’m forcing you into a role you’re uncomfortable with. I know I’ve been pushing the whole family thing a lot lately, but -”

“Stop,” Robert says, in a tone that brooks no argument. “If I didn’t wanna be here, I wouldn’t.” He pauses, giving Joseph a crimson-streaked smile. “Although I might change my mind if your kid keeps throwing elbows like that.”

Joseph makes a high-pitched noise of distress. “He  _elbowed_  you? In the face? He broke your nose with his elbow and slinked out of the room like it was nothing?” He’s getting fired up, and Robert would let him go because it’s cute, but he doesn’t want Chris getting caught up in his ire.

“It’s not broken, and it was an accident, Joe. I grabbed him, tried to throw him over my shoulder. It was my fault,” Robert promises, brushing the fingers of the hand not stemming the flow of blood from his nose over Joseph’s wrist.

Joseph makes a face, not angry, almost disapproving.

“What,” Robert says flatly, expecting a lecture about roughhousing or horseplay or whatever 1950’s terminology Joseph insists on using.

“Chris is getting pretty big,” Joseph hedges, taking it in an unexpected direction. Robert frowns, waiting for the rest. “And you’re….not exactly  _young_. Maybe you shouldn’t have been trying to pick him up in the first place.”

“That’s it, get out.” Robert gives a laughing Joseph a shove towards the hall. “Take your jokes and your cracks about getting old and leave me to bleed in peace.”

Joseph catches his hands, bringing them to his mouth for a fleeting kiss. “Let me help. Sit down.” He guides Robert to the edge of the sink, leaning over his knee to rummage through the medicine cabinet. “I’m not really sure what to do for a bloody nose,” he says, apologetic, holding out gauze and neosporin. “And your lip!” he adds, getting a good look at Robert under the brighter lights.

Robert grabs his wrists and pulls him back to stand between Robert’s spread legs. Joseph sighs a little, leaning in to brush his nose against Robert’s swollen one.

“Does it hurt?” he whispers, close enough that Robert can feel the words as well as hear them.

“Only when you do that,” Robert whispers back.

Joseph tugs at his wrists, but Robert is holding on. Joseph gives up with another sigh, their hands lowering to rest on Robert’s thighs. For a minute, his fingers pick at the fabric of Robert’s pants. Robert appreciates the quiet, the rest slowing his heart and consequently the flow of blood. He’s pretty sure it’s stopped completely before Joseph lifts his head, offering him a weak smile.

“I’m sorry my child maimed you,” Joseph says, sounding sincere.

“S’okay,” Robert tells him, sniffing a little against the stuffiness in his nose. Clotting blood does not feel good. “I was a little proud of his reflexes, tell you the truth.”

“You’re great with them,” Joseph blurts, earnestly. “I know I’ve been a little….overbearing since you moved in, but I swear, Robert, it’s not because I don’t trust you with them or think you’re a bad parent or anything, I just want everything to go well so  _badly_ , and I want us to really be a family, you know, and I -”

Robert leans in and catches Joseph’s mouth because he doesn’t need to hear any more. He believes it. And he believes he’s gonna have to work really hard to be worthy of it.

Slightly shaky fingers slide over Robert’s jaw and into the hollows of his cheeks, all the way back to curl around his ears. Robert doesn’t even remember letting go of Joseph’s wrists, but his own hands slide around the curve of Joseph’s hipbones, squeezing the bit of extra flesh they find there. The outside of Joseph’s thighs press against the inside of Robert’s, warm and solid through fabric. Joseph’s mouth is yielding, lips parting without prompting. Robert drags his tongue over the edges of Joseph’s teeth, hands bunching his shirt to splay across smooth, inviting skin.

Joseph breaks the kiss with a gasp, turning his head so Robert’s mouth finds his jaw. Robert pulls away with a hiss when his injured nose catches the sharp bone. Joseph pulls away enough to scrub a hand across his mouth, stained with Robert’s blood.

“You taste bad. Coppery.  _Bloody_ ,” he shudders, looking slightly queasy.

Robert laughs, the action jarring enough to set his nose to bleeding again.

“I love you too, you wimp.”

**Author's Note:**

> i've been trying to write for these guys as much as possible, but i'm not always capable of those super long angsty fics, so here's a compromise! send me more prompts here [x](https://knotsandknives.tumblr.com/) if you'd like, and i'll do my best to get to all of them!


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